


Let Us Rejoice and Be Glad

by vampinsecret



Series: Soulmates AU [1]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Biblical Themes, But Now It's My Turn, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I Know There's A Lot Of These, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Violence, In-game Scenes, Incomplete Soul Bond, Joseph is lowkey a sweetie, Masturbation, NSFW, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Recontextualized Revelations Quotes, Romance, Self-Harm, Smut, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, but still kinda crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26557120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampinsecret/pseuds/vampinsecret
Summary: "Joseph wondered if his parents had somehow tattooed the words on him as a baby. They enjoyed pointing out that he was the only one in the family that had been supposedly 'gifted' by God with a soulmate who clearly thought as poorly of him as they did, proving he was, and would always be, worthless.After all, how could anyone’s first words to their soulmate be ‘fuck you’?"
Relationships: Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed
Series: Soulmates AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931389
Comments: 93
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph Seed is unprepared for the touch of Hell, packaged in the form of a Junior Deputy coming to arrest him.

Chapter 1

Joseph Seed had once asked the Voice about his mark, huddled deep in a closet as he waited for his father to stop shouting and throwing things. On days like this he would hole himself up back there with a flashlight, playing with a dusty army man he’d found in the school playground or talking quietly to the Voice (it didn’t always talk back, but it was comforting anyway). This time, he aimed his little flashlight at his scuffed palm, frowning at the harsh words that crinkled across his skin, and asked it, “How could my soulmate hate me so much?”

The Voice never answered him. 

Before he was old enough to understand what soul marks were, Joseph had wondered if he just had a really unluckily shaped birthmark. He thought to ask his school librarian once, whose powdery cheeks blushed rouge as she swept him over to the rarely-traveled science section and pulled out some books with a cheeky, “You have plenty of time to find your soulmate when you’re older, Joseph dear, but if you truly want to know…” 

And he did—not that the books helped much. They had big words that were hard to read, but he was able to gather a few important things: 

1\. Soul marks were something people were born with, and reflected the first words their soulmate would ever speak directly to them. 

2\. Soul bonds could not be broken after their first words were spoken, but the bond could be severed if one or both deliberately chose words different from their respective soul marks. 

3\. There was no way to find one's soulmate—some people went their entire lives without finding them, dying unfulfilled and incomplete. 

Joseph clenched his palm shut with dejection and shut the book, trying not to let the librarian see his disappointment as he skulked back out. 

Later he wondered if his parents had somehow tattooed it on him as a baby, as just another way to make fun of him. They enjoyed pointing out that he was the only one in the family that had been supposedly 'gifted' by God with a soulmate who clearly thought as poorly of him as they did, proving he was and would always be worthless. 

After all, how could anyone’s first words to their soulmate be ‘ _fuck you_ ’? 

He kept his left hand covered up after that, once his schoolmates also caught up to what soul marks were and what they meant. Joseph didn’t let more than one person catch sight of his and make fun of him for it before keeping it permanently wrapped up, usually under gauze or mittens in the winter. It stopped being something Joseph thought of at all, for a time, as he drifted through his hometown a homeless nobody with no family or friends, later bouncing from job to job throughout the US. 

Then he met his wife, the sweet flower she was, whose golden hair and demure smiles won him over quicker than any soulmate could… or so he thought. Joseph had loved his wife, even if she wasn’t his soulmate. Sometimes she had asked him if it bothered him, and Joseph vehemently denied it—if his soulmate hated him so, he did not want to know them. God and his Voice had led him to her, and that was more than Joseph could have hoped for. He told her so, and she blushed so prettily when he did, and from then on Joseph kept his palm carefully concealed from her to prevent any doubts of his devotion to her. 

He should have known God would not have let him keep her, or the precious child she carried inside her. His warning had been written clear on his palm since his birth, no matter how much Joseph sought to cover it up and forget its existence. He was too numb to rage at God for taking her, forcing him back onto the Path towards his hateful soulmate, as he held his suffocating wisp of a daughter and tried to convince himself such sacrifices were necessary. It did not stop his heart from breaking for the family he could have had, the one he wouldn’t need to convince to love him, but God worked in ways he couldn’t possibly understand. Joseph was His servant, meant to save the worthy from His cleansing fire, and this was what Joseph would do. 

God’s Path found Joseph seeking out his equally roughshod brothers, where for once, _finally_ , someone believed in him and the visions his Voice granted him. Joseph’s merry band of three preached their way into Hope County and others flocked to them, and Joseph triumphed. God was right—He had taken one family from him to give him back another. 

Joseph wondered often if he would be one of the ones who would never meet his soulmate. He knew his Flock personally, their names, their lives, their sins and their hopes—he made them in his image, shaping them into faithful believers and searching for others who might join his ever-growing family, and none (especially his Faiths, though most did not remain) would ever be so wrathful as to snap such words at him at any time, let alone upon first meeting, so his soulmate could not be here. But Joseph would not make the same mistake again as to question God’s intentions for him, so he kept his left hand bound up in his rosary, a silent promise of his devotion to God and to the Path. If God led him to his soulmate, he would take them without question, but until then, his focus would be on leading others to Eden’s Gate when the Collapse was wrought upon the Earth. The answers were all in His words—the seals would be opened once Hell followed the white horse to raze the world and bring forth the Collapse, and Joseph was prepared for it. 

And then Hell arrived in the form of a Junior Deputy, following the Whitehorse just as planned, and Joseph realized that he was wrong. 

There was no preparing for this. 

***

He heard the commotion outside before he saw it, but few heads in the church turned away from Joseph and his sermon, and Joseph did not stop speaking. There was no need—he knew what was coming since early that morning, Nancy having whispered fearful warnings through the sheriff office’s telephone hours ago. The helicopter wings quieted, the dogs barked, but his Faithful continued to sing as Joseph once more warned them of what was coming. The doors creaked open and they entered his church. He faced his invaders, never ceasing to speak the Word, watching with intensity as the Sheriff and a US Marshal bickered quietly among them underneath his sermon. A young woman—a deputy, the words emblazoned on her shoulders—hung back just behind them, her brown hair tightly woven into a fishtail braid and swept over to rest on her collarbone. She looked around warily as his Flock stood and gripped their guns tighter, fearful for their Father. 

“Joseph Seed,” interrupted the outsider with a face so full of _Pride_ and _Wrath_ , holding up the warrant so that it was bathed in moonlight. “I have a warrant issued for your arrest on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm.” 

His Flock shifted restlessly to his side as the Marshal made his demands, but Joseph did not fear as they did. His triumph was never higher—he was _right_. 

“Here they are,” he exclaimed to his Flock. “The locusts in our garden. You see they’ve come for me. They’ve come to take me away from you; they’ve come to destroy all that we’ve built!” 

His Flock raged, forming a protective barrier between him and the antsy officers. The Marshal’s Wrath never faltered, his hand sweeping over to his holstered gun while the Whitehorse yelled warnings at him. The young deputy watched with a mix of the Marshal’s seriousness and the Sheriff’s fear, her own hand inching towards her gun but halting. There may soon be bloodshed, Joseph realized, and with this he stepped down off the podium and placed a gentle hand on his followers’ shoulders, calming the crowd with a gentle touch where Sheriff Whitehorse’s frantic words couldn’t. 

“We knew this moment would come,” he assured them. “We have prepared for it.” 

And with that he sent them away, and they obliged without question, stepping past the invaders with nary more than a sideways glare in acknowledgement. His Family stood behind him steadfastly, not as a wall for the locusts to penetrate but as a warning—should they choose this path, there would be consequences. 

“God will not let them take me,” said Joseph with assurance as his arms lifted into the air, barely noticing the jerky double-take and the frown the young woman did at his words. “‘I saw when the Lamb opened the First Seal, and I heard as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts say, ‘come and see’…”

“Step forward,” the Marshal snapped with impatience. 

“…and I saw,” Joseph snapped back, arms dropping as he approached the invaders with accusation, “and behold, it was a white horse…” 

The Sheriff shifted as Joseph’s attention swept over him, but he did not linger, finally looking toward the wary stranger. 

“…and Hell followed with him,” he finished softly, his eyes landing on her the moment his final word escaped. 

And she looked so wary still, like he was a beast who was sure to lunge at her at any second, the pale moonlight caressing an arc across her damp cheeks. Such a tiny thing, he thought, for one who was prophesized to wreak such havoc—sweet-faced, almost, if not for the furrowed brow and the frown dragging down her pouty lips. Joseph held out his hands to her, imploring to her without words, whether to take a different Path or to open the Seal as she was meant to. 

“Rookie,” the Marshal said with an authority he falsely thought he had. “Cuff this son of a bitch.” 

She glanced at the Marshal before she faced Joseph, and he told her with the confidence of God’s chosen, “ _God will not let you take me_.” 

She stopped breathing entirely, something Joseph might have missed were his undivided attention not already on her. Her hand did not move to her belt for the cuffs, nor did she glance again to her partners—she did not move, as though she had been struck into stone by his words. She stared hard into his eyes, and it might have been a question if there was any sort of expression on her face to begin with, the damp hollow of her throat shifting slightly as she swallowed hard. Joseph returned her steadfast gaze with one of his own as though God’s Voice could spill from his eyes into her soul. Was there a hope the invaders would turn away before setting their wrath upon the world? 

“Rook, put the cuffs on him,” the Marshal ordered, his patience once more lacking. 

This seemed enough to snap her out of her haze, and with a carefully blank face the young woman stepped forward and grabbed at his wrists with her gloved hands, her head ducked down further towards his hands than necessary as she cuffed him. What a disappointment. She would never know how close she just came to changing the future. 

Joseph leaned down and whispered near her hair, “Sometimes the best thing to do… is to walk away,” but she sharply shrugged off his warning by grabbing the chain between the cuffs and jerking it forward so he would march, with a raw kind of strength he didn’t expect from someone so small. 

Joseph heard Jacob step forward, the threatening clomp of his boots on the wood the telltale sign, but Joseph subtly shook his head as he squared his shoulders. Hell would not listen—he should have known so. Still, he could not understand the hesitation she showed before placing her hand on his shoulder, leading him with a strange sort of gentleness between the pews considering her earlier roughness. 

It wasn’t until the Sheriff and the Marshal threw open the doors of the Church that he understood. 

Chaos waited for them outside in the form of an angry Flock, people shouting at the injustice being done to their Father as another nervous deputy waited nervously with her hand on her gun. Orders were barked among the invaders over the angry din and stones were thrown as the locusts led him through toward their helicopter. One riled up the Marshal into shouting (what a surprise) but another struck the deputy behind him and she grunted, slipping in the mud and stumbling into him before regaining her footing. 

The skin of her forearm made contact with his bare shoulder, and from the touch Joseph’s entire body erupted with a fire so wholly loving and good that his head tipped back in the purest ecstasy. 

_‘Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand_ ,’ burst clear into his mind, as the angels sang through her skin straight into his soul in a roaring chorus that crushed his lungs and left him struck. The tiny patch of skin drifting over his shoulder was St. Teresa’s fiery arrow, piercing Joseph straight through with a pain that was too good to wish away. His teeth sank into his lip to stop from moaning out in lust and he was immediately hard, cock pulsing in his pants, his legs stopping their obliging march to try and lean further into the deputy’s touch like a wanton harlot. She shoved him forward with a slight gasp, so quiet it was almost lost under someone’s horrified shout of, “ _They’re taking the Father_!” and Joseph blinked back to reality when her skin parted from his. The other deputy’s rough hands yanked him into the helicopter, which he now found was only a few paces in front of him. How long had he spent writhing in his lustful stupor? 

The second deputy shoved him into the seat across from her with no kindness, and the helicopter lifted off jerkily as his Flock pounded their fists on the windows in an attempt to stop his capture, but Joseph’s world contained nothing but her. 

_His soulmate_. 

He didn't know how he knew exactly, but he _knew_. He stared her down through his aviators the moment he was able to blink the haze of his ecstasy from his eyes, his thighs still shaking and his dick still hard in his pants, watching her as she turned away from him to focus on kicking his Faithful out the opened door, the ghost of a blush ebbing away on her cheeks. He ignored the Marshal grabbing at his shoulders and shouting as if to demand he stop this chaos, staring at her with utter silence, the thrum of her pleasurable touch still singing through his blood even as the helicopter began to spin back down to the ground, even as she screamed and gripped the ceiling in fear, even as her head collided with the wall from the impact and she flipped upside down, eyes closing. 

“… _was blind, but now I see_ ,” Joseph finished quietly, only just realizing he had been singing to her, only just realizing he too was upside down. 

Mechanically, still in a haze, he unfastened his seatbelt and let himself fall onto the ceiling of the helicopter, stumbling out as the dust settled and flames began to lick the hull with merry crackles. He gripped his rosary tight and brought it to his chest, letting out a shuddering breath as the nighttime breeze cooled his skin. What had just happened? He was so sure earlier when the pleasure of her still sang through him, that this was the touch of his soulmate, but as it wore off his uncertainty crept in. _She_ was his soulmate? 

The yells of his Flock and the terrified cries of Nancy through the dangling headset called his attention back down, and he turned on his heel to look at her again. He found her blinking groggily, eyes golden and hellish in the firelight, frowning at her dangling companions as she attempted to get her bearings. She looked both magnificent and terrifying in her haze, the flames making her skin shimmer and dance like she had been born into them (hadn’t she?) and his eyes narrowed at her. This could not be his soulmate. 

He carefully stepped back towards her, singing under his breath, “Amazing grace… how sweet the sound…” and watching with triumph as his voice jolted her into struggling, hands scrabbling for the headset which Joseph cruelly snatched back from her with a hand on her wrist and a muttered, “that saved a _wretch_ like me…” 

He spat the word at her, for this was what she was always meant to be, and watched as her gaze met his in poorly concealed fear, angry tears spilling from her crinkled eyelids down her temples to disappear into her hair, turned an even darker shade of brown from the dampness. She looked at him so accusingly, as thought daring him to do something, when _she_ was the unwelcome one. 

He addressed Nancy first, watching the betrayal of her dispatcher turn her fear into pure rage, and then leaned over and whispered, “ _No one is coming to save you_.” 

His shoulders tensed in anticipation of her reply, wanting desperately for his words to have provoked her into saying something, anything, a confirmation of his soul mark or of his mistake. Her chest heaved like she wanted to spit the words at him, but she did not—she said nothing, wet and fiery eyes darting between his until he was left with nothing but disappointment and impatience. He turned abruptly away from her to head back outside into the cool air of the woods and address his grateful Flock and their pure, thankful gazes, nothing like the hatred in her own. 

“Everything is unfolding according to God’s plan,” he promised, ignoring the eyes on him that were neither loving nor reverent. 

He stepped up onto the truck with an order to begin the Reaping, and this was the moment she began to fight against her seatbelt like the hounds of hell were on her heels. His Flock yanked the other deputies and the Sheriff out into the open, while the Marshal and his hellish deputy struggled against their bindings with bull-faced determination. Joseph watched with the barest tinge of something (regret? Fear?) as one of his Flock set the helicopter alight with her still inside, but reassured himself with a private shake of his head. 

“Let them burn,” he said, trying not to acknowledge how he almost choked on the words. “This is God’s will. This is their punishment.” 

No sooner had he said that did Joseph see the Marshal dart out into the woods, leaving his still struggling companion behind— _no honor among thieves_ , he thought. He clasped his hands behind his back and watched, waiting to see whether God would save her or whether his mistake would be confirmed with her death. 

He watched her fly out of the burning vehicle and into the moonlight, leaping from the flames like a startled deer; Joseph blinked, and she had disappeared entirely beyond the foliage, the only thing denoting her existence being the furious shouts of his Faithful as they realized her escape and his hammering heart. He pointed after her in a wordless order to _find her and bring her back_ , before striding into the truck and allowing himself to be driven back home. 

Smiles and warmth from his Family would greet him where the cold night and an angry mob would surely greet her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you enjoyed this short first chapter. The fic is complete (I wouldn't post it otherwise as the pressures of uni, especially COVID-altered uni, means time for writing is a mythical concept) so expect updates about once every two weeks. I also have this as part of a series because I plan to hopefully go through the three Seed bois because they all need some love (esp John, poor, sad lil sadist). Cheers!
> 
> Recognizable dialogue and scenery is credited to Ubisoft. Bible quote (not those taken from the game) is Revelations 5:11 in the New Intl. version. Because if Ubisoft can recontextualize Bible verses, so can I.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph crashes the Deputy's Cleansing in search of answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: nsfw

Chapter 2

Joseph’s certainty did not last even a few hours. 

His siblings hugged him and expressed their relief at his safety before he sent them off back to their respective Flocks, both in case the little deputy decided to return and so that he could hole himself up alone in prayer. The Voice had not outright spoken to him since his baby girl, showing him the vision of the Collapse, but maybe now, he hoped… for such an important occasion…

The Voice did not return to him that night no matter how long he prayed on his knees before the altar, nor did it in the weeks that followed, so he stopped praying for answers and started praying for forgiveness. 

Joseph knew no other way to react to his sudden onset of lust, provoked inexplicably by that hellish woman. If she truly was his soulmate, then it was not a sin for him to indulge in the gift that was her touch. But if she was not, he had allowed the fires of Hell to draw him in, if only for a few seconds, at such a pivotal moment. He gripped his rosary tighter until the beads pressed deep and painful into the thin bones of his hands, and a shuddering breath escaped him at the memory of the purest ecstasy that had swept through him. His hips jerked forward uncontrollably and a low moan rumbled out of his mouth. The feeling she had brought forth in him… it was indescribable, beautiful and frightening all at once, and haunted his dreams whenever he finally exhausted himself into sleep. He woke that first night with the memory still pulsing through his body and his hand already desperately gripping himself under the blankets. He felt such shame as he writhed in pleasure and spilled onto his stomach with a sob, the pounding of his blood a steady drumbeat against the inside of his skin. He did not let himself enjoy the aftermath, angrily throwing the blanket off of himself and stumbling back up to the Church with tears spilling from his eyes while his seed cooled on his abdomen. 

“Please forgive me; I am weak,” he whispered that night, and he dropped to his knees and wept, and from that night on whenever the memory slipped into his dreams and woke him up, he ignored the erection that followed it. 

He had his faithful Nancy pull up any and all files she had on his would-be soulmate. Joseph wanted to know everything about her—her name, where she came from, why she was here, everything. He had already deduced she was not a local, that much was clear—the county was too small to stay hidden for long—so he spent several nights hunched over his desk poring over all the papers Nancy had given him until his back was sore. 

Joseph was amused to find her name (or at least her surname) was, in fact, ‘Rook’, and that she hailed from West Virginia in the Appalachian region. She had done her police training there before transferring to Montana in a nearby county and then being bounced to the desperately understaffed Hope County Sheriff’s Office. Such a long way from home. He wondered why a small-town junior would let herself be hauled across the country to work in this nowhere corner of Montana. Was there nothing tying her down to her old home? And so young, she was, having only just turned twenty-five a few weeks after first moving to Hope County. He felt like a lecherous old man just for thinking she might be his soulmate. 

The files were sparse and said nothing of family or friends, but Joseph spent as much time as he could trying to work through what little information they gave like it was an unsolvable puzzle, frustrated and burning with questions. 

Some days he thought she must be his soulmate, if he was weak enough to let himself believe it. An angry little thing like her would surely have her first words to him be ‘fuck you’. All of his childhood wonderings made sense when he thought about it—they were enemies now, but maybe one day she would join him on his Path... Other days he was back to steadfast denial, thinking it just as well that Hell would enter his garden and draw him into sin. It must be a trick. Surely God had not intended him, the one He had chosen to lead those through the Collapse into salvation, to be bound to the one meant to bring forth the Collapse in the first place? It couldn’t be. 

Could it? 

God did work in mysterious ways, as he himself proclaimed and had others proclaim to him. What if Joseph’s Path was to temper his soulmate’s fire, bring her into his Flock and into salvation through Eden’s Gates? God had chosen him to lead the others—why not her as well? And then he was back to uncertainty, knees aching on the hard wood as he prostrated himself in shame in front of the altar. 

There was no other way to test the theory unless he saw her again, and Joseph was fearful to fall back into sinful Lust again. He thought of seeking out John to carve the sin into him again—right next to the first one on his back, so he could look at the two side by side to know how he had _failed_ once again—but his questions stopped him from doing so. He was not willing to profess a sin that may not be, so he decided must seek her out again. His Flock had failed to find her the first night, several coming back dead or bleeding from her acrimony (or not returning at all), so he decided to wait patiently until God showed him back to her. This was his kingdom now—she could not hide in it for long. 

Joseph was not disappointed. As the Reaping swept over the county, word quickly began to travel among captured sinners of ‘the Deputy’ who was currently stealing John’s penitent souls from his Faithful before they could be given the chance to atone, forcing her way into outposts by gunning down anyone that came into her path, looting their trucks, and generally leaving a trail of bodies behind her in a roadmap of death. The news appalled him whenever it reached him and sent him straight back into questioning—here was this hellion razing his world and snatching _his_ Flock from their salvation, without hesitation or regret, and yet she was supposed to be the purest love he would ever know from this moment on? When he thought of it like that, it almost disgusted him. 

Worse yet was her effect on John—his sweet little brother, broken and lost and so, so angry when Joseph found him, torn back down to this state over her insolence. Joseph listened with sorrow as his brother snarled his reports through the radio or over dinners, talking about how she had stolen back Fall’s End after he had only _just_ managed to wrestle it from the resistant sinners, how she was ungodly happy to blow up his silos or steal Nick Rye’s plane straight from under his nose. 

Quite literally, in fact—how she sneaked unnoticed into John’s estate and entered the hangar with thirteen armed guards nearby was baffling, but Joseph deigned it inappropriate to ask as John was practically spitting venom when he talked about it. 

She could not be his soulmate, Joseph thought once more—how could he love someone who broke down his brother, after all the progress he had made? He would love her anyway, if she would only turn her gaze back to him and choose to atone, but until that day…

“Be strong, brother,” Joseph told him calmly on one of these occasions. “The locusts have come, but we have prepared for it and more. You must find her, and make her repent.” 

“Yes Father,” his John said with heartbreaking shame through the radio. 

Joseph wished to be near him if only to provide a moment’s comfort, but they both had their duties to do, so instead he sent his brother away with a promise that God would show them the way. 

Until the day one of John’s Faithful sent a message to Joseph, exclaiming breathlessly through the radio, “They’ve caught the Deputy! She’s en route to the river to undergo the Cleansing!” 

Perfect. God giveth indeed. 

Joseph abandoned his evening sermon with the barest of apologies to his Flock, hurrying out of the church and barking orders for a truck and an armed escort to John’s region, which they hurried to obey without question. He would not catch her before she was transported to the river, but if he was lucky he would be able to watch her Cleansing, search her face for any amount of repentance for her actions… among other questions he’d like answered. Joseph prayed in the truck on the drive there that for all of John’s rage towards her, he would keep himself in check just like Joseph had taught him so long ago. John knew how crucial it was for his own salvation, and hers as well. 

Joseph was disappointed once more as the truck ambled to a halt over the loose sand, stepping out to find his youngest brother holding the Deputy’s head under the water in a gesture far too jerky to be a simple baptism. He stepped forward slowly with his hands clasped behind his back, mouth pressed into a thin disapproving line as he watched John’s snarling face and the Deputy’s hands flail and scramble, tearing at John’s fine sleeves. Before Joseph could intervene, John pulled her back up and shushed her in a mocking gesture of kindness, smirking as she coughed up water and struggled against his grip… or was she just shivering that violently? Blood trickled from a gash somewhere under her hair in an odd, patchy blossom as it mixed with her still-wet skin, and Joseph tutted to himself at how poorly John had treated her. As John prepared to push her back under, Joseph finally spoke. 

“Do you mock the Cleansing, John?” 

The boom of his voice was sharp like the crack of a branch in a silent forest, and Joseph watched his little brother’s back tense up and his hold on the Deputy slacken. John slowly backed away and turned _just_ enough so he wasn’t quite facing Joseph but was acknowledging him, a nervous tic of his—John did not like to face his brother’s disappointment in him. Joseph’s eyes darted to his (not?) soulmate, watching her blink water from her eyes in a sleepy gesture that told him she was almost certainly dosed with Bliss. She stared straight at him, not with rage this time but with an odd mixture of alarm and curiosity, like he was the last thing she’d expected to see. She wasn’t displeased, as far as he could tell. 

“No, Joseph,” whispered John with heartbreaking shame, still not looking at him, reminding Joseph there were other matters to attend to. 

Joseph shushed him gently and extended a hand out as if to beckon John into forgiveness. “You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that.” 

John still didn’t look at him, but the Deputy did, now glancing between Joseph and John, whose hand was still loosely holding onto her shoulder. He ordered she be brought to him, and John hastened to obey, pushing her with a gentle gesture that was so unlike his earlier wrath, and it was a start, certainly. The Deputy glanced around with eyes blown impossibly wide, like she didn’t know movement could be so fast (how much Bliss was she given?). Joseph extended his arms out with caution, bizarrely looking forward to touching her again but fearful that she might wrest him back into Lust despite his many nights of grief and prayer. 

With this in mind, he carefully gripped her shoulders where the tattered shirt was wet and sagging and showing bits of skin, dirty despite being dunked in the river, with freckles and bruises scattered here and there like an abstract painting. She swiveled her pretty little head to look at the hand gripping her like she wasn’t quite sure what it was. He took that moment to look her up and down, committing every inch of her exposed skin to memory—the peek of her belly underneath the rumpled flannel, the arch of her battered knee through ripped jeans, the inside of her wrists unforgivingly bruised from handcuffs, the damp arch of her neck and the dip of her breasts into a dirty tank top. Joseph saw no sign of a soul mark anywhere on her, though much more of her was covered than uncovered; nevertheless he deflated a bit in disappointment. 

He looked back up at her, almost pleased to see she was looking over him with the same amount of curious scrutiny, but he caught sight of John standing nearby with his shoulders hunched, and once more he was reminded she was not his only purpose. 

“Despite all that you have done, you are not beyond salvation,” he told her, watching her Bliss-addled face twist back into the wary frown from before. “You’re not here by accident or by chance. You are here by the grace of God. You’ve been given a gift.” _Him_ —he was the gift, in love or in salvation, either one would do. “Now it remains to be seen whether you choose to embrace it… or to cast it aside.” 

Her button nose wrinkled in disgust and anger even as her eyes blinked the stars away sleepily, looking for all the world like his ‘gift’ was repulsive to her. Yet even then, she didn’t say a word, her lips pressed together so tightly they turned almost white. Joseph didn’t know if it was an angry tic or if she was trying her damnedest not to speak, and he wasn’t sure which one he preferred because _if it was the latter_ …

To his surprise, the Deputy took a stumbling step backward and nearly ripped herself out of his grip as her squeaky boots slipped over the damp sand, and Joseph hurried to grab at her again so she wouldn’t fall down. Her already too-big flannel (whose clothes were these?) slipped off her shoulder just as his hands closed around her shoulders, his thumb finding purchase against the bare skin of her upper arm, and once more all was right with the world. 

Joseph was no more prepared for the ecstasy of touching her this time than he was last time—it was beautiful, it was terrifying, and it was so good that it physically _hurt_. It was like pure hedonistic gratification traveled from her soul into his through the simple conduit of his thumb on her skin, and good _God_ , how would this feel if they were naked and entwined together in his bed? If he were inside her, instead of pulsing untouched and unsatisfied in his jeans? He barely had the forethought to duck his head slightly so no one could see his teeth sink into his lip in an effort to prevent him from making any of the embarrassing noises he wanted to make—John was here, and his Flock, and this wasn’t for them—but the Deputy, _the Deputy_ … 

Nothing on Earth had ever been as strikingly beautiful as her before this moment. Every freckle on her face, the dimples in her cheeks and the graceful arches of her eyebrows were suddenly poetry in the form of a woman. Her eyelashes fluttered as her eyes nearly rolled back into her head, a quiet little whine escaping through her now slackened mouth, and the sound rang through him like church bells. She trembled, and since Joseph was trembling too he knew for certain this time that it wasn’t because of the cold river. Joseph had to tighten his hold on her shoulders when her knees seemed to fail her and she started to sink down towards the sand. 

In that moment, she wasn’t Hell or Wrath, but Lust incarnate, her gaze turning back to him with what he could only describe as ‘bedroom eyes’, hooded and dark and only slightly tinged from the Bliss. A shaky breath escaped her mouth and he leaned a little closer so he could feel it play across his heated face, and she followed suit, her head tilting towards the hand through which their incomplete soul bond thrummed as if to rest on it, but it was too far to reach. He almost reached out and cupped her cheek so she could rest her weary little head on that, if she so pleased, but the scrape of someone’s boot against the marshy ground managed to jolt him back to reality this time where the roar of a helicopter couldn’t before. 

Slowly he released her shoulders, feeling bereft at the loss of such godly pleasure, and took a gradual step back, watching carefully as sentience returned to his ( _his_ ) Deputy as well. Her face dropped into an expression so gaunt and wide-eyed he couldn’t call it anything but horror, and it would have hurt Joseph’s heart if he weren’t still riding the high of confirmation—she was his soulmate, she was, _she was_. She was beautiful and dangerous and she was _his_. She may fear him now, even hate him, but she could not escape God’s plan for them. The pleasure of her touch would wholly be his to drown himself in one day… 

But not today. He was right—she avoided speaking to him because she _knew_ , and any word she spoke might lock her to him for eternity. So he would wait. He was patient, and he would wait. 

Turning to his brother John, who was preoccupied with staring teary-eyed ( _oh, sweet John_ ) at the ground instead of him, Joseph placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder and murmured, “This one shall reach atonement…” His vision of fire in the sky and a bloody corpse falling to Earth rang clear through his mind, rocking him as deeply as when he’d first dreamt it, and Joseph pressed his forehead to his sad, sad little brother for comfort, “…or the Gates of Eden shall be shut to you, John.” 

Joseph could see through the reflection on his aviators that the Deputy was watching their moment, open-mouthed but still frowning, but he ignored his soulmate for the time being, focusing on caressing John’s hanging head as he whispered a humble, “Yes, Joseph.” 

Satisfied, Joseph raised his head but kept his hand in John’s slicked-back hair, turning to face his Deputy. She flinched under his gaze, swaying a little from the Bliss, before looking away with an angrier kind of shame than John could ever hope to accomplish. With a squeeze to his brother’s shoulder, Joseph pointed at her and said in a low voice, “Treat her with care. And patch up her head wound.” 

John’s sadness made way for confusion, but he nodded all the same and took the Deputy’s arm, muttering words to her than Joseph could not hear as he sauntered back towards the truck and away from the other half of his soul (later, he reminded himself, there was time, she needed time). His purpose for coming here was fulfilled, he had his answer. There was no need to linger, no need to look back and see if John was heeding his words. 

Nevertheless, Joseph stopped as he spotted a thick brown fleece coat in a haphazard pile with other jackets on the ground. He leaned over and picked it up, squeezing the woolen fabric in his hands with reverence—he’d seen her wearing this on her wanted posters. It had a frayed collar, several tears and a hole which Joseph hoped was from the harmless Bliss bullet and not from the deadlier types of bullets they had at their disposal. 

_This has touched her skin_ , Joseph realized, and his grip on the fleece tightened further. Without looking to see if anyone noticed him feeling up the Deputy’s coat, Joseph clutched it protectively to his chest and strode over to the truck as though someone might snatch it from him if he wasn’t quick enough. He gave a nonchalant wave to the driver (Levi was his name) to get going, and as the truck reversed up the muddy path towards the road Joseph lifted the jacket to his face and inhaled, hoping to catch a trace of her scent—he couldn’t find any earlier when they were half plastered to each other. 

She smelled like sweat, of course, but also like the sweet scent of a summer breeze wafting through a flower garden, if he had to try and describe it. Not quite like any flower in particular, but the slight hint of many. It was lovely. At the river, she had smelled too much like crisp water and the musk of Bliss, but this was a scent he hoped he would one day get used to. 

Joseph lowered the jacket from his face into his lap, grateful for Levi’s watchful eyes scouring the road for threats. He carefully folded the jacket and tucked it onto the seat opposite to him to stop himself from destroying her scent with his own, and sat in the backseat with a quiet patience he was surprised to have. He desired to pray again, this time to thank God for His gift, but he also desired to lose himself in the memory of tonight in a way he could not with an audience of his Faithful. Yet he kept his hands clasped and resting in his lap (both for his calm façade and to hide his still-present erection) and watched the dark countryside fly by, pretending he wasn’t drunk off the thought of her. 

“How was the Cleansing, Father?” asked Levi. 

Joseph jumped a little at the sudden question after so long in silence, but he nodded his head at the driver. “Fine, Levi. The Deputy will do well in John’s hands.” 

_And when she’s ready, she’ll be in mine_ , he thought privately, his gaze turning back to the window. 

He bade Levi and his armed escort a hasty goodnight when they pulled into the compound, trying to look casual as he strode over to his cabin with an infamous jacket draped over his forearm. Not that he should have worried—it wasn’t strange for the Father to have the captured enemy’s confiscated clothing on his person—but if anyone looked a little closer they might see the barely held-back smile on his face or the unnecessarily tight grip on the collar. When Joseph shut the door behind him it was a relief, but before he allowed himself to fall back into Lust he gently placed the jacket on the seat of an armchair and walked over to the altar. He fell once more to his knees and pressed his mouth into the inky expletive on his palm like it was his saving grace. 

“Thank you, God,” he whispered on a ragged exhale, bowing his head and clasping his hands above it. “She is more than I could ask for. I do not deserve your kindness. Thank you, _thank you, thank you_ …”

If he were a stronger man, he would have prayed his thanks to God the whole night through. But God knew he was not, and there was only so long he could stay crouched over with his erection crushed uncomfortably against the inseam of his jeans. 

Heavy breaths stuttering out as he rose, Joseph ambled unsteadily over to the chair like he was St. Anthony being torn in multiple directions by demons, his knees aching and his head swimming. He reached out to grasp the fabric of her jacket and lift it to his face again, sinking into the armchair with the smallest of trembles. Such a sweet-smelling thing she would be, he imagined, if she were safe and clean and warm here with him. Her hair would be damp from the shower instead of from the river, her clothes fine and intact, her smile bright (Lord, he didn’t know what her smile looked like yet). She would smell a little like him too—he would make sure of it. 

Joseph inhaled again and let loose the whimper he’d bitten back when he’d been touching her shoulder, his hand drifting down to palm his cock through his pants. He whined again at the remembrance of the noise she had made during their brief link. That sweet little sound she’d made at the river was the first noise he’d heard her make that wasn’t an angry, pained or panicked grunt; it was beautiful, and he wanted to hear more. 

His imagination helpfully supplied the sinful thoughts he was looking for, hips jerking against his palm as his mind’s ear listened to the music of her moans. He pictured her ankle deep in the river looking up at him with eyes hooded from something other than Bliss, reaching out to touch him of her own accord and writhing at the pleasure the touch brought. She’d cry out unabashedly, no audience around to require discretion, and the call would echo through the trees. 

His Rook would be so bold, Joseph thought; she looked so small but she vibrated with barely contained strength. She would want to be on top so she could ride him however she wanted, he decided, and the thought actually startled him with the hot flush it brought on. He buried his face in her jacket to hide his heated face as his hand finally fumbled with the zipper of his jeans and pulled out his cock. It took barely more than four quick pumps for the pleasure to sear white hot in his blood and his hips to jerk up as he came like an eager teenager, high strung from the weeks of thinking and dreaming about her without allowing himself any relief. He muffled his cries into the fleece as his strokes slowed, wishing for all the world he was moaning into the slope of her neck instead. But he was not greedy—this would do, this was also good. 

As his breathing slowed and his body cooled, Joseph pulled the jacket away and set it aside, the shame starting to creep in as he took in the sight of his seed splashed across his best waistcoat. So Lustful was he that he couldn’t even have waited until he was comfortably in bed before indulging in his sin. Though, was it sin if she was destined to be his? Perhaps, he thought as he rubbed a hand over his sweaty face. She was not ready to be his yet—she still feared him. It must be sinful to succumb to Lust towards a person who (probably?) had no feelings for him besides contempt and fear. He decided he would pray for forgiveness anyway, whether or not he was sure it was a sin at all—he could not be faulted for being _too_ devoted, right? 

Joseph sighed through his fingers and stood up, tucking himself back into his pants and wrestling his sullied clothes off of him. He knelt shirtless before the altar again and whispered apologies and pleas for forgiveness beneath his pressed palms, and maybe, just maybe, a request to let him see her again soon slipped in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Joseph you sinful boi :p Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Special thanks to MrMcLemons, Galarvis and Littlewritingraven. Recognizable dialogue belongs to Ubisoft.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph visits Rook in the Bliss.

Chapter 3

Joseph would not get his wish for several more weeks.

His Deputy was a crafty thing, he soon learned. She escaped John’s custody after the Cleansing with the help of the Resistance, and then a second time of her own accord. The fit John threw the night of her second escape was so tumultuous and astonishingly Wrathful that Joseph had to scold him once more and sent him off to the church’s altar to beg his forgiveness like a child. He was not moved this time by John’s sad eyes—if he did not stop allowing his sin to overtake him, Joseph was certain his vision of his little brother’s death would come to pass sooner rather than later. 

Faith was much more appropriate to deal with her, it seemed. The Deputy had fled Holland Valley and ploughed her way into the Henbane like an angry bull, taking out whatever or whomever was in her path. But his sweet Faith’s smile never faltered, her words never turning to venom. In fact, she seemed almost pleased that the Deputy had chosen her lands to raze, humming merrily as she promised to ‘set the Deputy free’. The idea even seemed to lessen John’s anger… though it was more likely John was glad not to have to deal with her destruction. The Resistance at Fall’s End had stagnated without her where it had been progressing like a poison under her leadership, and John was already making arrangements to repair what the Deputy had destroyed. 

In the meantime, Joseph tended to his Flock, watched over his siblings’ efforts and waited for news of Rook to be given to him. He would not ask about her, for to do so would be to let Greed overtake him. He lived on snippets from overheard conversations between members of his Flock about ‘the Sinner’, his siblings’ brief reports when they had the time, the files he managed to scrounge together on her, and his own dreams. He dreamed of her alarmingly often, the urge to seek her out and force the words out of her growing stronger every day his bond with her was left only half completed. 

But Joseph did his duty to God and resisted temptation as much as he could. He had even had one of his Faithful, the sweet, elderly widow Marion, mend Rook’s jacket for her. Joseph was not sure if it was because it was a request from the Father or if Marion did not know who the Deputy was, but she did it with such care that the jacket looked almost brand new when she handed it over to him. He kept it tucked away in a box on one of his shelves so it would remain clean and safe until he could return it to her. It was not only a gesture of kindness on his part, but a reassurance to himself that he _would_ see her again. 

Not that she seemed to need the jacket anymore. The snapshots the Project’s sparse cameras managed to get of her showed she now wore clothing that fit her much better, favoring a brown leather bomber jacket and holsters for every type of weapon she could find, apparently. Dressed for war, his hellion was (although how many types of explosives does one woman really need?) He wasn’t sure whose clothes she had been borrowing before, but they seemed mostly male, which made him frown if he thought about it too long. Despite the temptation, Joseph avoided looking at such photographs. As much as he wanted the luxury of committing every square inch of her to his memory, the idea of her gallivanting around the county in another man’s clothes tipped him too far towards Envy. 

Nearly a month after the Cleansing, Joseph welcomed his siblings with a gentle press of his forehead against theirs and allowed Faith to dreamily clutch onto his arm as he escorted them to his cabin on the island. He found it of immense importance to sit down with his Family at least once every few weeks, if not to enjoy the simple satisfaction of seeing each other then to obtain more detailed reports than they could provide over the radio. 

John immediately beelined for the kitchen with a wary glance at Jacob, preferring to do the cooking as he learned long ago that Jacob’s cooking was… utilitarian, at least compared to John’s finer tastes (and the fact that Jacob was content with forgetting spices existed). Jacob smirked before sinking down at the table and crossing his legs, not-so-secretly pleased to avoid doing the work. Faith glanced between her siblings, looking like she wanted to get up and help John in the kitchen, but she had learned from experience that John did not have the patience for her bubbly chatter and her tendency to let things overboil or burn while she flitted around the kitchen, distracted by the many tasks cooking involved. Joseph smiled at the lot of them, wondering what Rook would think of his Family if she saw this side of them, and not the side the Project forced them to show. 

Ever the down-to-business type, Jacob pulled some documents out of his rucksack and slid them over the table to Joseph at the head spot, saying earnestly, “I have a new batch of Chosen, Joseph. Thirteen out of forty-two survived the conditioning moderately well.” 

“An impressive number compared to past trials,” Joseph hummed, before pausing. “Moderately well?” 

Jacob shrugged, sitting back in his chair. “They’re not all exactly in one piece, but it doesn’t bother them.” 

Faith giggled when Joseph gave his brother a wry look. Her laughter reminded Joseph of her presence and the news she (hopefully) brought with her of his soulmate, but Joseph waited patiently for her to speak instead. She looked at him with an almost knowing glance, appearing as if she indeed wanted to say something, but they all turned their heads when John swore and jerked his hand away from the stove, fingers finding their way into his mouth. 

Faith pouted and teased, “Oh no, Brother, would you like me to kiss it better?” 

Jacob snorted and John shot him a glare before telling her with practiced patience, “No thank you, Faith. Would you grab the black pepper from the cupboards, please?” 

Faith practically glowed at his request as she hopped up from her spot at Joseph’s side to skip into the kitchen, and Joseph tried not to feel too disappointed. He leaned over Jacob’s reports instead, skimming through them and noting the overwhelming number of (now former) Whitetail militia members who were now conditioned for the Project. He hummed to himself, wondering if Jacob was now personally targeting the ragtag group of armed civilians who had been a minor but vocal nuisance in the mountains for several weeks. 

While John cooked and Faith babbled, Joseph and Jacob bent over the reports and discussed business until John swept plates of pasta carbonara in front of them, Faith helpfully setting the table before settling once more at Joseph’s side. They clasped hands and said grace before tucking in with an extra thanks to John for his work. 

“How are things in the Valley, John?” Joseph asked as he set his napkin in his lap. 

John’s lips pressed together into a visibly distraught line, but his voice was calm when he replied, “Fine. We’re gaining the best traction in the south. We easily took back the fertilizer company, which will make recuperating our _losses_ with the silos easier.” Nobody missed the grit of John’s teeth on the emphasized word. “The Bliss shipments are mostly uninterrupted as well. Fall’s End continues to be a nuisance, but they are clumsy and disorganized without the little Wrathling there to hold their hands.” 

Joseph almost chuckled at John’s new nickname for his Rook, which he had been using in abundance since he had determined her sin. He had been entirely unsurprised by John’s conclusions—God knows the proof had been etched on his hand his whole life. 

“And you, Faith?” Joseph said at last, resisting the urge to lean a little closer towards her in anticipation. “How fare your efforts?” 

Faith smiled at him with a twinkle in her eye, like she knew what he really wanted to ask. “Do not worry, Father. The damage our Deputy has done is minimal at best. She was alone in the Henbane for a while, and she’s only just made her way to the jail with the other locusts.” The smile on her face never faltered, even at the mild insult. “I expect she will be more vocal when she is more comfortable with her new allies.” 

“Do you think she will be a threat soon?” John scowled, looking thoroughly put out that Faith was having a much easier time with the ‘little Wrathling’ than he was. 

“The Bliss will free her,” their sister replied primly. “Although she is…” Faith tilted her head in thought, “…surprisingly ruthless, but I can’t blame her for it. She is lost and pulled in so many different directions, but she finds such peace in the Bliss.” 

“You’ve brought her into the Bliss already?” Joseph exclaimed, his fork idling in his pasta. 

Faith beamed and dropped her own utensils to clutch her hands to her chest in joy. “She took so well to it. Oh, Father, you should have seen her; she was _perfect_. There was no fear in her, no hesitation. She took my hand and ran with me through the fields of paradise like she knew it was where she belonged. I told her our story, and she listened so, so attentively.” John made a displeased noise but Joseph barely heard it, feeling himself tilt towards his sister, hanging on her every word. “I took her to the top of your Word, Father, and she did not hesitate to leap so faithfully off the edge. And when she woke unharmed at the bottom, I could tell she felt free. She was not simply following her Marshal. In that moment she truly believed. In that moment, she had _faith_.” 

God help him, he wanted to see that more than anything in the world. 

“What did she look like?” Joseph breathed with reverence. 

His brothers exchanged confused glances at Joseph’s rapture, but he left the gesture entirely unnoticed—his world consisted of Faith and her sweet words. Faith did not disappoint him, turning her entire body to him and grasping his hands with delight at the question. 

“Beautiful,” Faith whispered back, her freckled cheeks dimpling with the wideness of her smile, as though speaking of his soulmate gave her as much happiness as it gave him. “So _beautiful_ , Father. She smiled at the stars and caressed the flowers as we danced through the fields together.” His breath escaped him at the thought of his love peacefully twirling among a field of white flowers, eyes closed and mouth wide in a joyous laugh. “She looked at me like God’s light was filling her soul. Every word I spoke about you, she leaned a little closer to me and begged for more with her eyes—” Joseph’s heart stopped for a split second, “—and for a moment, she grew wings and flew alongside me. When she took the leap and chose to walk the Path, she let herself fall like she knew death did not wait for her at the bottom—so gracefully, like she was made of air. The Bliss was her home and she never wanted to leave. She belongs with us, Father, I’m _sure_ of it.” 

He nodded in wholehearted agreement, still clinging to Faith’s hands as his heart hammered in his throat. He wanted to see it—he wanted to see all of it. 

And then, Faith sighed and leaned over to kiss their entwined fingers. “She was truly angelic. She would make the most wonderful Faithful.” 

_Angelic_. The word gave him pause for a moment, feeling a frown pulling down his mouth. He had seen what the Bliss did to those who fought against it, and God help her, his Rook would fight it with all her might. The idea of Rook becoming one of them… 

Joseph abruptly dropped Faith’s hands and sat back, dread filling his veins like a chilling poison. Faith blinked at him as their mutual reverie was broken by his withdrawal, but Joseph seized her shoulders and told her with as much authority as the Father could muster, “Faith, you are not to turn the Deputy into one of your Angels. Do you understand?” 

Faith looked alarmed at his sudden intensity, but her smile wavered only a little, now tinged with confusion and a slight hint of fear. 

“The Bliss will help her see the Path to Eden clearly, Father,” she replied sweetly, a careful avoidance of his request. 

“The Deputy’s mind must remain her own to walk through the Gates of Eden,” Joseph insisted, with another squeeze to her shoulders. “Listen to my words, Faith. You _must_ promise not to make her an Angel. Is that clear?” 

Faith nodded abruptly, her smile now more of a practiced grimace. Relief warmed his blood, and he gave her an apologetic press of his forehead to hers, turning back to his dinner. He noticed Jacob had ceased inhaling his own food to stare hard at the two of them some time ago, and John had been frowning for Lord knows how long, but Joseph chose to return to eating what was left of his now cooled pasta without acknowledgement. 

“All will be answered with time, my child,” he assured Faith, who relaxed her shaken posture. 

“Of course,” she chirped, ever his resilient Faith. “Perhaps you could visit both of us in the Henbane soon? It has been such a long time, and I’m sure she would love to see you.” John carefully hid a snort into his napkin, but Joseph perked up at the thought. “You could give your Word to her and my Faithful in the Bliss!” 

He smiled at her once again. “That is a wonderful idea, Faith. Perhaps tomorrow?” 

Faith mouthed the word ‘tomorrow’ like the idea was breathtakingly perfect. “Yes! I’ll bring her to you, and you can see her beauty for yourself.” 

“I look forward to it,” Joseph said dreamily, more to himself than her, before picking up his empty plate and practically drifting towards the kitchen sink to wash up, ignoring his siblings’ questioning glances. 

He had to prepare—this had to be perfect. 

***

Faith did not manage to steal the Deputy back from her allies until sometime in the afternoon. Joseph spent the hours until then blissfully boneless and simultaneously tense with impatience, though he knew from experience catching his Rook was a challenge, and he did not fault Faith for the lateness. 

He had in the meantime left the compound early in the morning to spend as much time with Faith’s Flock as possible, entering her Gate just as the sun started to rise and ministering to the awed, Bliss-tinged faces. Faith had small amounts of Bliss filtering in through the air vents, just enough to keep her Angels and her Faithful happy and pliant but not enough to do much to Joseph than allow him to enter into God’s garden alongside them. He stood at the base of the tree, its petal-leaves falling into his hair and the wind playing across his bare chest, while they sat among the flowers and gazed up at him with white-tinged eyes. 

The Marshal wandered in at one point, no longer the picture of impatience and Pride. Now he embodied the peace and contentment of the Bliss, though he still donned his bulletproof vest with his (former) title stamped obnoxiously across it. Joseph felt such satisfaction watching the arrogant man who had barked orders at his Rook sink into the grass and stare up at him with a reverence that matched his most faithful followers, little blue butterflies making themselves at home on him wherever they pleased. Faith had done well with him. 

He spoke to the Flock of divergent paths, of strength and vigilance, when he spotted Faith’s white flower gown emerging through the green fog—and she was there too, and his heart _seized_. 

Faith was right—nothing in the Bliss could compare to Rook’s unreserved beauty. Faith had confiscated the ratty baseball cap she had begun to favor so as to braid the little white Bliss flowers into her hair, her signature fishtail replaced by French braids to better keep the flowers in place. In the light of the garden, Joseph could take in her every feature properly, no longer shuttered by the darkness of night or the wrath of cold river water. Her hair was lighter than he remembered, and streaked with little strands of gold like captured sunlight that weaved in and out of her braids. The apples of her cheeks had the faintest smattering of freckles that he was sure hadn’t been there before (too much time running around in the sun?) and were flushed a sweet pink as she let Faith pull her merrily towards him with both hands clasped around hers, no trace of anger or wariness on her face for the first time… only peace, and a slight hint of curiosity.

As she drew closer, he could see a new scar had appeared on her collarbone, a small but deep nick that would be almost unnoticeable if Joseph wasn’t trying to drown her with his gaze. A knife wound she had stopped from going too far? God forbid. 

“Now you’ll see,” he heard Faith whisper to her as Rook was pulled gently towards the circle of Faithful. “Now you’ll truly understand.” 

Rook stopped at the sight of him, her mouth dropping open and the barest hint of _something_ passing over her face—fear, or perhaps the shock at seeing him here after so long. Faith let go of her hand and moved to stand by the Marshal, her hand drifting down to rest on his shoulder, butterflies scattering to make room. The expression the Marshal made up at her outshone the look he had given Joseph himself.

Faith had done well with him indeed. 

Joseph had stopped his sermon in the middle the moment he laid eyes on her, but the Flock continued to look pleased and pliant, and Faith nodded encouragingly at him as if to promise to look after things in the meantime, so he stepped out of the circle and approached her. A small dimple appeared between her brows in the ghost of a frown, and she stumbled back barely enough to be called a step, as though torn between which direction she wished to go in. He did not let this deter him and reached out with both arms just like last time, gripping her shoulders once more, this time over the fabric of her new jacket, disappointingly. She gazed up at him, her pouty lips parted and damp and invitingly kissable, but he ignored the temptation as she still looked somewhat wary. Her eyes darted down over his chest, and a frown managed to find its way onto her face when she landed on the jagged ‘SLOTH’ carved just above his right pectoral. 

She looked almost… disgusted? 

“You judge me,” he acknowledged quietly, so as not to let the Flock overhear them—this was for the two of them alone. “You judge us. The things that we have done.” 

Her face hardened further, confirming the theory. His gaze drifted down to the grass in disappointment, wishing she too had gone her whole life hearing and seeing God’s Word. But here; perhaps he could _show her_. 

“People say… that I’m crazy,” he murmured, before flicking his gaze back up to hers, “but when you wake up in the morning, you look at the same news that I do.” The petals swirled around them while she stared at him silently. “Do your eyes not fill with horror?” 

He released his grip on her and she swayed a little towards him, so he coaxed her to turn around away from the Flock so he could show her his vision. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Faith gently ushering her Flock away from him and his Deputy, the lot of them disappearing into the mist before Joseph turned his full attention back to showing Rook his truth. 

“This is the world?” he exclaimed, as he beckoned towards the red-tinged mushroom cloud on the horizon. “ _This_? This is the world we built for our children?” He turned back towards her, pleased to see that while Rook had not moved to follow him, she openly gaped in unabashed horror at the omen of destruction that haunted his dreams for so many years. “Communities being torn apart. Walls being erected. Because leaders are too impotent to act. Bullies are too addled to lead _righteously_.” 

Rook swallowed but said nothing, seeming only the barest bit shaken by his vision, and that was not enough for him. Joseph held his hand out to her, urging her closer, urging her to believe in him. 

And for a moment it really did seem as though his Rook grew angel wings, floating over to him like a spirit and outstretching her own hand to meet his without hesitation. Faith was right— _Faith was right_. He took her little hand in a painstakingly gentle motion, cradling it in reverence. To his dismay Faith had not confiscated Rook’s gloves, so he drew her even closer and grasped her clothed waist to feel a little bit of her warmth. She gazed up at him with a question in her eyes, her breath rattling out of her like she had only just managed to hold back a shiver. 

“I did not ask for this,” he whispered to her, his own breath playing across her face. 

A short strand of her hair dislodged from her braid and wisped over her face in a hasty caress, and Joseph carefully brushed it aside with his fingertip, without touching her skin—he needed to have control for this, she needed to see. He squeezed his eyes shut as the weight of her stare suddenly became too much for him to bear—there was still too much doubt in her eyes. 

“I was _chosen_.” 

And when he leaned over and pressed his forehead to hers, connecting their minds and souls both physically and metaphorically, Rook let out the purest, sweetest moan like the pleasure of his skin was God’s own touch. She did not have the sense to try and muffle it, not that they had an audience anymore, and the unrestrained noise made him answer back with a cry of his own and lift his hands to curve around her cheeks. The rosary covering her future words pushed gently into her soft skin, but it did not seem to bother her. In fact, another gut-punched moan escaped her at the gesture, and her gloved hands curved around his to press them tighter against her while simultaneously tilting her face up in search of his. His breath shuddered out of him as the tips of their noses brushed—she was practically _begging_ him to kiss her. He wanted so badly to fulfill her wish, to taste her lips and leave his mark on her neck. He opened his eyes for confirmation, finding hers squeezed shut and her brows arched upwards in desperate ecstasy as sparks and ashes rained down around them where soft white petals and blinking lights did before. She was stunning, clothed in the firelight of God's judgment and the heavenly-ordained pleasure of his touch.

And Joseph knew he had to pull back, because Rook still did not believe in him, not yet—she still did not see. 

He released her face and slowly lifted his head from hers, enchanted by the way she whimpered protests and tightened her grip on his hands to try and coax him back. But when she opened her eyes again, the horrors of his vision grounded her once again, and she took in the fire that surrounded them and the haze of pollution blocking out the sun, still holding onto him for dear life. 

“You see?” he implored, entwining her gloved fingers in his and rubbing his thumb against the soft leather. “Everything is coming to an end. You can feel that—I know you can.” 

She was still more focused on him than on his message, so he reluctantly let go, took a few steps back and gestured to the deplorable scene—the burning cars, the ashy debris, the flying sparks and the plumes of smoke wafting in dark puffs above their heads. His church stood intact but hazy in the orange light, a testament to the truth he spoke. The only true Path was theirs. 

“See, mankind is weak… and vulnerable. And we are hurtling towards our destruction, and no one is willing to do anything about it.” _Except me_ , he left unsaid. “I can see that. You can see,” he half-pleaded. “And we are not crazy. So what are we supposed to do? We just sit back and await the inevitable?” 

Rook shook her head almost mechanically, like she’d been hanging on his every word for some time, and the gesture thrilled him. He approached her once more and took her hands again as the sparks swirled merrily around her head, like a crown of stars. 

“I don’t claim to be a perfect man,” he said with hesitation, his gaze skimming to the arid ground again in fear of her judgement, “but I saw what was coming, and I chose to act… to lead. Because society is broken, and the only way forward… is to go back to the way things once were. Innocent and pure. So safe and protected… in _our_ garden.” 

She blinked dreamily at his emphasis, tilting her head as if to say, ‘me too?’ He nodded, lifted her hand with his and pressed her palm to his own cheek, sighing as she blessed him with the smallest of smiles. How beautiful. He wanted it branded into his skin.

“I can save you,” he hummed, tilting his face into the leather as the world burned around them. “But you have to have faith… faith in me. You _will_ be with me there, in our New Eden. Because you are my soulmate.” 

A little gasp escaped her at his vocal acknowledgement of the word. Rook swayed closer to him, hooded eyes darting between his own eyes and his mouth, once more begging for what he dearly wished to give. Movement at her feet caught his eye, and he glanced down to find that his angel’s steps were sprouting Bliss flowers from the fire-stripped soil. With a smile, he leaned down to pick one for her, and held it out for her to take. Her free hand reached for it but missed it entirely as she tipped forward, eyes sliding closed for good this time. 

Joseph jumped up to catch her as she fell, the flower dropping from his hand. A gust of green-tinged wind blew away the ashes of his vision, so he was cradling her back in the sparkling grass once more. He frowned down at her with concern, brushing a hand to coax the stray strands of hair out of her face and ignoring the thrum from their soul bond that followed. She was warm but not too much, and not clammy. She must have passed out from the Bliss, he deduced, the tension leaving his bones. She had not been in Faith’s hands long enough to build much of an immunity to it, it seemed. 

He settled down with her in the grass and cradled her with painstaking gentleness, his cheek resting on top of her hair as a calm breeze played over them. She breathed evenly, her chest rising and falling in a steady pace against him, further lessening his worries. Before he could savor the moment for too long, a rustle of footsteps through the grass made him lift his head to see his Faith stepping slowly towards them from beyond the mist, her hands pressed against her mouth as tears of joy streamed down her face. 

“What a wonderful day this is, Father,” she whispered, her breath hitching. “You’ve found God’s most precious gift... the other half of your soul.” 

Joseph smiled with warmth and extended a free hand to her, which she took once she managed to carefully sidestep the sleeping Deputy. Faith sank down onto her knees, wiping her eyes with her other hand and sniffling. 

“I am so happy for you,” she finished, beaming at him with red-rimmed eyes. 

“Thank you, Faith,” Joseph said with true gratitude, clutching his soulmate a little tighter. “I did not think I would be so lucky.” 

But he soon frowned and sat up, as his tighter grip on Rook allowed him to feel the alarmingly slow pulse of her heartbeat against her throat. He pressed his fingers to her jugular, finding indeed that her heartbeat was too slow for his liking. Humming with contemplation, Joseph stood and cradled his Deputy close to his chest. 

“She isn’t used to so much Bliss,” he told Faith, who nodded with consideration. “Return her to her allies.” 

The strange order gave Faith pause. “Truly? You don’t wish her to stay here?” 

Of course he did. 

“The Bliss must leave her system before she can be brought back in, and she will be more comfortable waking with familiar faces nearby than those of her perceived enemies,” Joseph stated, though the thought soured in his mind. “Make sure she reaches them safely.” 

He didn’t wish to throw her back to the wolves, knowing that once she recovered she’d dive straight back into her chaos—it was her way—but at least she wouldn’t risk blowing her heart out in panic when she awoke from the Bliss with strangers looming over her. 

Faith pursed her lips but nodded once more. “I will have my Faithful bring her to the jail.” 

“You will keep her safe?” Joseph said, intending it to be an order, but it came out as a question instead. 

Faith placed a hand on Rook’s head and the other on Joseph’s shoulder, her warm eyes crinkling with the width of her smile. “Of course, Father. She is a part of you, and I would do anything to keep you safe.” 

He let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding, nodding his thanks as he pressed his forehead against hers one last time. Faith tugged him into the mist, and one of her Flock emerged to take his Rook away from him, and God help him, he let them. She was not ready for him yet, he reminded himself, as he exited the Gate and blinked to find the searing colors of sunset pinkening the grass. 

But perhaps, after today, after listening to him and seeing through his eyes… she would be soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Not all chapters are just going to be rehashing in-game scenes, but since Joseph won't leave poor Rook alone we got Jacob's to go. Shit's about to go downhill for the Father O: 
> 
> Alternative fic title: Count the Revelations References.
> 
> Special thanks to Dotty and MrMcLemons. Recognizable dialogue belongs to Ubisoft.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob captures the Deputy. Things go downhill for Joseph from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings, if this is necessary: Semi-graphic description of Joseph killing his daughter, as shown in the game.
> 
> Alternative chapter title: Joseph doesn't know how the fuck to be normal.

Chapter 4

Rook’s jacket was left with Faith before Joseph departed, with instructions to return it when she delivered Rook to the jail alongside her original promise of keeping her safe. To his dismay, Faith never had the chance to keep her promise beyond sending Rook back to the ragtag band of ‘Cougars’ with her pilfered jacket, for after _over a month_ of not hearing any news of her—no destroyed shrines, no burning Bliss fields, no sightings, _nothing_ —Joseph learned his reckless little soulmate had flitted into his eldest brother’s territory to run with the wolves.

What angered him was not her apparent determination to get herself killed, or at least maimed. It was the fact that Jacob did not think to tell him he had even _seen_ the Deputy, let alone captured and caged her, until several days after he had starved her, pushed her to breaking in one of his conditioning trials and then left her (presumed) dead carcass on the floor of the Grand View Hotel for the Whitetail Militia to pilfer and coax back to life. Jacob did not think to tell him when he arrived at the compound with his siblings for Sunday mass in the early morning, nor when he received updates from his Chosen over the radio. Jacob did not even think to tell him when they debriefed as usual before dinner, choosing instead to alert Joseph of her presence in his region with an offhand comment _after_ dinner about the ‘angry little kitten’ that was only barely managing to outrun his weaker Chosen with the sizeable hole their arrow had made in her thigh from the first time. 

And he had said the last part with such a smirk, aimed at John specifically to rile up his little brother for how badly he’d failed to capture her in comparison, and he was thus unable to see Joseph’s white-knuckled fists nearly bending his silverware in half. John, leaving the tension in the room entirely unnoticed, was rolling his eyes as he swirled his wine in a crystal glass, but Faith had tensed up at the news as well. One hand flew to her mouth as Jacob described the ways he tortured Joseph’s other half with the calmness of someone describing mopping the floors. 

“Brother, perhaps you should send her back to me,” Faith had said hastily, eyes flickering between Joseph and Jacob. “She needs… a gentler touch, it would seem.” 

“She _needs_ to be broken into something useful, Faith,” Jacob replied, leaning backwards on the rear legs of his chair. “I don’t think dancing through the flowers is gonna get that done.” 

Faith made a face like she was trying not to scowl and gape in horror at the same time, and the expression became an almost comical, twisted grimace as it caught somewhere in the middle. Before she could speak again, Joseph had taken a few calming breaths and carefully set down his silverware—or he tried, but the movement was jerky and made a loud clatter as stainless steel met wood, causing both of his brothers to glance at him. 

“Jacob,” Joseph said with a neutral tone, but he still saw Jacob tense up and let his chair drop back into a straight position, somewhere along the line having trained himself into developing a sixth sense for when his brother was displeased. “Why was I not informed until now that you had found the Deputy?” 

Jacob frowned deeply, shoulders squared and gaze directed at Joseph’s collarbone like a soldier being reprimanded by his superior. Joseph would have been regretful at putting Jacob back into that role, if he wasn’t focusing so hard on keeping his voice calm and his fists unclenched. He could not stop imagining his brother looming over his Rook, the sweet thing that she was in the Bliss, now beaten and starving and left lifeless on the floor with the other failed soldiers. 

“I didn’t think of it, Joseph,” he responded in a curt tone. 

“You will _think of it_ from now on, Brother,” Joseph snapped, standing up from his chair and leaning over the table towards his shamed sibling with both palms slammed onto the wood. “This will not happen again.” 

“No, Joseph.” 

John hid a smirk behind the wine glass he lifted to his mouth, but it dropped when Joseph sent him a sharp look. 

“This goes for all of you,” Joseph said in a low, dangerous tone, straightening up and pointing at each of his Family in turn. Now all of them avoided his eyes, shamed in the face of the Father’s wrath. “The moment you cross paths with my—with the Deputy, I will know about it at once. When you capture her, you do _nothing_ unless I know about it first. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, Father,” they chanted in unison. 

Only Faith met his eyes in the silence that followed, her own eyes wide and imploring. He ignored the look and sat back down, clasping his hands on the table in a calm gesture belied by the tic in his jaw. 

“Where is she now, Jacob?” he bit out. 

Jacob all but snapped to attention, meeting Joseph’s eyes again. “My Chosen last spotted her raiding cabins near the Elk Jaw Lodge at oh-six hundred. They’ve been losing and picking up her trail for the last three days. Kitten's a wily thing.” 

Joseph did not respond to the quip. “You mean to say she has not been spotted since this morning?” 

Jacob once again looked chastened. “They _will_ find her again, Joseph. I’ll send my best Chosen to accompany them this time, and Judges to track her scent, if you’d like it done sooner than later. She’ll go down eventually, and I can make sure she doesn’t get back up this time, if—”

Joseph held up a hand for Jacob to stop, his hand finding his way up to rub at his suddenly tired eyes. “You will not kill her.” 

“Why not?” Jacob asked, bemused. 

“Because she must be shown the Path,” replied Joseph, ignoring Faith’s sideways glance. “She _will_ be brought into the Project, into our Family, and she will atone.” 

“Or the Gates of Eden will be shut to us,” John muttered, his gaze in his lap as he made a face like the words were sour on his tongue. 

Jacob did not look convinced, but had the good sense not to argue with Joseph, not now. “Should I send the Chosen to bring her in, then?” 

“Yes, I wish to see her. Use the camera feeds to track her movements—she may yet lead you to the Whitetails.” Jacob nodded and relaxed a little, though he still looked confused and displeased. “Use your best Chosen to ensure she isn’t harmed in the process. And the _moment_ you take her in, you are to do nothing until I say so.” 

“Yes, Joseph,” Jacob repeated, his head bowing in deference. 

With a nod of approval from Joseph, Jacob stood at once and fished his walkie out of his rucksack, already barking orders into it as he stepped outside so the noise wouldn’t bother them. John blew out a breath like he’d been holding it for a while and stood as well, dutifully gathering their empty plates to do the washing. Joseph slumped over the table and let his head rest on his clasped hands, whispering a small prayer to God to send him a sign that Jacob had not damaged her too badly. He would soon see for himself, when Jacob’s men managed to catch his ‘wily kitten’, but his stomach roiled at the horrific images his unhelpful mind conjured up as he thought of her broken and half-dead. He only just managed not to flinch when Faith’s warm arms curled around his shoulders, drawing him into an awkward but comforting backwards hug. 

“God will have protected her,” she reminded him on a soothing murmur. “You just have to have faith.” He nodded, but the tension did not leave his body—he needed to _see it_. “We should tell them the news soon, to avoid such mistakes from happening again. She is our sister—they should know.” 

“Soon,” he promised. 

Though he was emboldened by their time together in the Bliss, part of Joseph was fearful she would somehow discover his soul mark and try to break their bond. She likely still thought of him as the enemy, or at least someone to avoid. While he was hopeful Rook was at least considering the threat of the Collapse after having seen it with her own eyes, Joseph knew there was still too much room for doubt. 

***

This was all but confirmed when Rook continued to counter the Project’s efforts with all her might in Jacob’s region, as seen through Jacob’s now rigorous reports. He was tracking her, but his Chosen were having a surprisingly difficult time catching her. Rook seemed to have learned how to evade them after being hunted for so long. 

He would have been impressed, but Joseph was heartily disappointed to discover she had ramped up her efforts even after their time in the Bliss. In under a week, she managed to take three of the four major outposts they had secured without setting off any alarms, destroyed all of Jacob’s wolf beacons, somehow managed to open the air waves again only to play old rock all day, and shot down half a dozen helicopters using nothing but a sniper rifle. There were near daily sightings of her alongside other known Resistance nuisances, in particular the youngest Drubman and his pyromaniac cousin Charlemagne or a variety of animals (how on earth did she get a _cougar_?). Sometimes she disappeared for days, unseen and untraceable. Jacob’s notes theorized her Whitetail friends were hiding her in the Wolf’s Den, but it still made him hopelessly anxious. 

When she did emerge to cause chaos, the photos Jacob’s sparse cameras managed to catch of her showed her shockingly gaunt and constantly bruised. She had a rough-stitched slash on the side of her neck like someone had almost succeeded in jamming a knife into her, and it looked like she had resorted to using fishing wire to close it. It broke Joseph’s heart to see her so desperately struggling to survive, resorting to whatever was onhand to piece herself back together. Why would she choose to fight so hard and put herself at Death’s door over and over to rescue the doomed? He prayed each night for her safety, and his efforts were rewarded with another report passing into his hands the next day, though he almost wished she would get too hurt to move so he could spirit her away for her safety, and so she might see what a foolish crusade this was. 

God answered his prayer through Jacob, one cool night after evening mass. 

“We’ve got her, Joseph,” came Jacob’s clipped voice through his walkie as he prayed in the now empty church, and Joseph’s head shot up. “I have her at the Veteran’s Center. We used John’s Bliss bullets to take her out without much damage.” 

“Well done, Brother,” Joseph said once he’d risen off his knees and snatched up the radio. “I am on my way.” 

Joseph exited the church and barked orders to have the chopper prepped immediately, striding over to his cabin to prepare. He wondered if he should change his clothes before shaking his head—vanity was useless for a woman who was already pre-ordained to love him—but when he opened the doors he found his brother John waiting for him in his armchair, the Word of Joseph open in his lap. It clapped shut as John stood to greet him, but Joseph frowned. 

“You could have sent for me, John, there was no need to wait,” he said as he touched his forehead to John’s. 

“You were praying,” John replied in a smooth dismissal, sliding the Word onto the end table. “I assume Jacob has found your little Wrathling?” 

“She is contained at St. Francis for now, but I wish to get there as soon as possible before she slips away again,” Joseph said, heading to the closet to fetch a coat. “I have no doubt she won’t allow herself to be caged for long.” 

He paused in front of the closet, considering whether or not to bring a second coat in case she needed one, before deciding he’d give her his own if need be. 

He was stopped from leaving by John’s hand on his shoulder and a quiet, “Joseph,” which prompted him to turn. John’s tone was quiet, but his expression was suspicious, his eyes narrowed. 

_Your_ little Wrathling, he realized, and sighed. 

“You know.” 

“Then it is true?” John exclaimed, huffing out a breath when Joseph nodded, hands clasped patiently in front of him. 

“Did Faith tell you?” 

“I overheard you and Faith at dinner,” John admitted, his brows furrowed. “She didn’t say as much when I asked, but neither did she deny it. That hell child truly is your _soulmate_?”

Joseph nodded once more, his hand tightening around the rosary in a now habitual gesture, but John sounded almost disgusted. 

“She is not worthy of you,” he declared, and Joseph sighed at the naive certainty in his voice. 

“Do you mean to say God made a mistake?” replied Joseph in a quiet tone—a warning. 

John blinked. “No, I—no, of course not. But Joseph, she is Wrath—she is _Hell_. You said so yourself. She was destined to destroy us, to bring the Collapse.” 

“Which is why it is our duty to see her to atonement, so she may pass through the Gates with us when the Collapse arrives,” he reminded his brother. 

“She avoids speaking to you,” John said, and though he did not say it with cruelty, Joseph still flinched and shut his eyes for a moment. “She willfully avoids completing your bond.” 

“She does not understand,” he bit out, swallowing. “She thinks of me as the Resistance does, an enemy, a psychopath, an Antichrist waylaid by sin and wreaking havoc on innocents in the name of evil. This is why I must see her; this is why she must see _me_.” 

“I hope she does not destroy you, Joseph,” John declared with both concern and venom, as Joseph made for the exit. 

Though his words did not make Joseph pause in his steps, they did cause a flare of anger. He did not understand either. Like the Deputy, he would have to be taught what it meant to be family, what it meant to atone and forgive. It was harder for John than anyone else, knowing nothing but abuse from two sets of caregivers meant to love him and the debauchery and underhandedness of Atlanta's finest, until Joseph brought them all back together. His frustration ebbed slightly at the memory of finding his baby brother, too strung out on the cocaine that dusted his nostrils and blew out his pupils to recognize who was standing in his doorway, too ashamed to do anything but sob like a child once Joseph spoke his name. 

John had come far since that day, Joseph knew, but he still had miles to go. 

The helicopter’s blades were already starting to spin by the time Joseph strode over, his annoyance already gone at the thought of soon seeing his Rook. It was not pure excitement like the last time—this time it was tinged with nervous energy, wondering if she’d be pleased or if she’d look at him with those angry scowls. They had never spoken (well, _she_ had never spoken) without her being on some amount of Bliss, with the exception of their first meeting in the church. 

He heard his own hard swallow in his ears despite the roar of the chopper as they soared over the mountains. How could he make her see the truth; how could he earn her trust? He wanted so badly to stop waiting for news of her death every day, to stop hearing the names of all the people she killed in turn and having to deliver his condolences to their grieving families and friends. He wanted her to be safe and whole, and to stop throwing herself into danger like an adrenaline addict, and he wanted her with him of her own accord, unafraid to smile or laugh or _talk_ to him. 

Most of all, to his eternal shame, he wanted to stop waking up alone with his head full of dreams and his cock pulsing unsatisfied, to be able to roll over and draw her close and sink into her whenever he wanted. Joseph closed his hand around the microphone of his headset so he could exhale his frustration without his entourage overhearing, knee bouncing with impatience despite his nervousness. 

In an unusual gesture, Jacob was waiting personally for his helicopter to touch down with arms crossed behind his back, looking ever serious. As Joseph exited the vehicle and moved to greet his brother, he saw the other deputy that Jacob had succeeded in breaking—Sacha, or something similarly feminine-sounding, though Jacob had taken to calling him ‘Peaches’ as a further insult. The battered man bowed his head in trained deference when Joseph pulled back from his brother, matted hair blown back by the helicopter’s slowing blades. 

“You have done well with this one,” Joseph said, impressed, as they began the walk down towards the cages. 

Jacob held his head a little higher, the only indication that he was pleased by Joseph’s praise. “Thank you. He’s too weak for the Chosen—” Joseph watched with interest as the male deputy flinched, his gait turning into a shuffle as he trailed behind them like a puppy, “—but he knows his purpose now. Don’t you, Peaches?” 

“Yes, sir,” the man said mechanically, a practiced response. 

Joseph nodded his approval but turned his attention back to the task at hand, each step towards the cages making the pit in his stomach grow deeper. They strolled between the sea of cages, dogs and wolves and animalistic prisoners snarling and shouting at them as they passed, but Joseph did not tense up until he saw her. 

And God, it broke his heart, how terrible she looked in the dim firelight. 

Where Faith had lovingly dressed her in flowers, held her hand and gently guided her, Jacob (or perhaps others who got there before him) had handled Rook like a rabid dog. Her skin was darkened with dirt and littered with little cuts, like she’d run headlong through countless bushes as she fled their pursuit. Her hair, now reaching her mid-back, was wild out of its braid and matted with what looked like dried blood. He wasn’t sure if it was the dirt or the poor lighting, but her face was so deep with shadows she looked skeletal, like skin painted onto bone in a cheap facsimile of a woman. He knew from the photos that she hadn’t been eating properly, but it stole his breath how deathly she looked. Her eyes blinked lazily open as she sat up from her sprawl on the ground, murmuring unheard words to her cage mate as he offered a bowl of… what was that, _raw meat_? A choked noise of pain rose up from his throat, but it was lost in the cacophony of similar noises coming from the cages. 

He opened his mouth to ask Jacob if he had starved her again, but he blinked when he found Jacob halfway across the lot… and the other deputy pressed up against her cage, muttering something to her. The muscles in Joseph’s back tightened (how dare he speak to her when he was complicit in this?) but Jacob took one look at his brother’s expression and shooed ‘Peaches’ away with a yank on his shoulder. As the other man scuttled away, chastened, Jacob glanced at Joseph as if to say ‘you coming?’ and Joseph whispered a quick prayer to God for guidance before stepping into the firelight. 

Her eyes landed on him… and then narrowed. 

She _glared_ at him. Glared, like he was responsible for this. It was nothing like the wide-eyed, glossy awe as in the Bliss, or the hooded pleasure like at the river. This was hatred, and it hurt. 

As he approached, he saw more cuts and bruises on her, and confirmed that the gauntness of her face, while not as bad as he had thought, was still worse than the last snapshot of her. Her friend had dropped the bowl in fear at his approach, but now he knelt down beside her with a hand grasping her shoulder—not to comfort her, it seemed, but to comfort _himself_. He hid behind her like a coward, as though implicitly hoping the Deputy would save him despite herself being trapped and starving. Joseph would see to it that this one suffered. 

His hands closed around the bars, gazing at her prostrate form with regret. She did not scramble away as he expected, but neither did she approach him. She just watched, angry and waiting. 

“Who is responsible for this?” Joseph muttered, without letting his eyes leave her. “You told me she was unharmed.” 

“I said the Chosen didn’t harm her when they brought her in,” Jacob replied from behind him, not mockingly. “They found her like this. She’s been pushing herself too hard while she’s been out slaughtering our people.” 

Rook’s glare swayed over to Jacob, who made a quiet huffing noise that Joseph ignored. He knelt down beside her, watching as her wary gaze snapped between him and Jacob, waiting for one of them to make a move. 

“Bring her food and water,” Joseph instructed, and he heard the shuffling footsteps of the two men hastening to do his bidding. 

Her attention was back on him, eyes narrowing in suspicion… and something else, according to the dark tinge that swept over her pale cheeks, yellowed by his aviators and the orange light of the fire. _How charming_ , he thought despite the circumstances. 

The other deputy reached him first, his hands outstretched holding a bowl. Joseph all but snarled at him at the sight of the sticky red-brown lump inside it. 

“ _Real_ food,” he barked, and the man flinched and began power walking out of sight to fetch what he requested. 

Jacob let out another amused huff as he held out his canteen, the water sloshing inside. Rook’s eyes began to dart between him and the flask, not in the desperation of someone denied it for days but of someone who knew if they didn’t get it now, they would regret it later. He took it and carefully held it out towards her through the bars of the cage. Rook edged over like she expected him to lunge or make a grab for her, before snatching the canteen out of his hands. To his surprise, she unscrewed the lid and made her way over to her cage mate, tipping it into his already open mouth. His hands scrabbled around hers to pour more in faster, choking and gulping like a dying man. Evidently Jacob had not showed the same consideration towards him as he had the Deputy. 

Only after the man was done did Rook allow herself to take a long sip, now aided in turn by him as he held her tangled hair back with his filthy hands. He flinched when Joseph glared at him (how dare he touch her?) but didn’t move away. Once she was done, Rook placed the empty canteen on the ground and kicked it through the bars so she wouldn’t have to approach again. Despite the gesture, Rook’s glare went right back on him with the added undertone of accusation, an implicit broadcast of ‘I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work’. 

The look caused him to close his eyes and rest his forehead against the bars, suddenly so, so weary at fighting for so many months to get her to just _understand him_ , to realize that all he wanted was to keep her safe. He wished God still spoke to him as it had when he was a child. Although the Voice only rarely answered, at least young Joseph had known it would answer eventually. Now he was left blindly stumbling through his task trying not to doubt if the Path he was taking was the right one, receiving nothing but a frustrating silence whenever he reached out. He sometimes received visions too vivid to be simple dreams, and he took this as the God implicitly nudging him, but Joseph was frustrated with the knowledge that the last time God had truly _spoken_ to him, it was to test his faith with the death of his wife. 

His eyes opened and landed on her, seeing for a moment the sweetly smiling face of his golden wife in the distrustful stare of his soulmate. Perhaps… if she knew how God led him here… she would understand him. 

“I know you’re in pain,” he said softly, his stare tracing her every cut, every scar. “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh. But you’re not the only one to be tested…” Rook leaned ever so slightly towards him, her eyes narrowing as they swept searchingly over his face when he drew up his sleeve. “Did you know that I had a wife?” 

Now he had Rook’s undivided attention, all traces of malice fleeing as she leaned even closer to look at the tattoo. He outstretched his arm between the bars of the cage so she could see better, caressing the Bliss flowers around his wife’s flowing hair with fondness. John had made the sketch in secret and offered to tattoo it on him on the anniversary of her death, and it was one of the few times Joseph openly wept, deeply moved by the gift. 

“So beautiful, isn’t she?” Joseph murmured, and Rook looked up to meet his sad eyes, her mouth parted with curiosity. His grip returned to the bars of the cage again and continued, “We were pregnant with our first child. And we were just babies ourselves, really—” And so was Rook, he realized, barely older than his wife was at the time, “—and I was terrified, of becoming a father. Mostly about money. She wasn’t worried. She had faith that things were going to work out. She always had faith…”

Joseph had let his gaze drift away as the memories overwhelmed him, but he looked back to Rook and found her listening patiently, her head tilted to the side with her intrigue, and his heart skipped with hope. 

“And then one day,” he continued, “she was going to visit a friend. There was an accident… and the Lord taketh.” He heard her little gasp over the rush of blood in his ears. Even after so many years, his grief still felt almost fresh. “And they rushed me to a hospital and put me in a room with this… little pink bundle stuffed with tubes, and they said I had to be strong, because my little girl was going to live. God was looking out for our daughter.” 

A dog barked in the background, but all that existed in the world right now was he, Rook and his memories. Rook was starting to frown in an expression that looked almost… piteous, like she knew what was coming. She didn’t. 

“And they left me in a—alone in a room with her,” Joseph stumbled around the lump rising in his throat. “I just… _stared_ … at my daughter. So helpless. So innocent. And all she had in the world was _me_. A nobody, from nowhere, with _nothing_ ,” he spat with disgust. “And in that moment, I knew that God was testing me. He was laying out a path before me, and all I had to do was choose… So I put my hand on my little girl’s head, and I leaned in, and I could smell. And we prayed together. Prayed for wisdom. Prayed for strength… Then I knew. I heard God’s plan for me. And I took my fingers, and I put them on that little plastic tube that was taped to her angelic face, and I pinched it shut.” 

He reached a hand out and pressed his fingers to his thumb in a pinching motion. His eyes closed and he hummed as he pictured her tiny pink body covered in plastic and scratchy hospital blankets, shivering at the lack of oxygen, her wrinkled lips pursing as she tried to draw breath. He remembered thinking how small she was, barely half the length of his forearm. How was this premature infant two months away from what was supposed to be her due date meant to survive without a miracle? 

And the answer was that she wasn’t, and this was Joseph’s test. He was at a crossroads, and he had to choose. 

“And after a little while, her legs began to kick and kick… and then nothing. Stillness. Release.” For both of them. “The Lord giveth and the Lord _taketh_. Pain. Sacrifice. These are all part of His test. We only have to prove that we can serve God… no matter what He asks.” 

And Joseph looked up, expecting her to see now, to understand… but instead he was met with Rook’s gaunt face, bloodless and pale under the dirt on her skin as she shrank away from him. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears in the firelight, but unlike the pitying looks or the glares she had given him before, she now stared with eyes blown wide with horror, her pupils pinpricks in the sea of her night-darkened irises. Her hand was pressed to her mouth, and he frowned as she closed her eyes away like looking at him was too painful to continue. 

He reached his hand out through the bars again, silently asking what was wrong, but Rook pushed herself back using her heels until her back met the other side of the cage. Her cage mate’s hand found its way onto her shoulder again, and that seemed to give her the comfort he couldn’t, because her hand rose from her mouth to angrily scrub at her eyes. Her glare returned when her hand lowered, only it was worse this time. It wasn’t the wary resentment of someone forced to face their enemy, it was the rage of someone who’d just realized their enemy is an irredeemable monster. 

Joseph’s grip tightened on the bars so hard it hurt, ducking his head to avoid the fire of her stare. She had been rejecting their soul bond this whole time, refusing to say anything in case it matched his mark, because she thought of him as a monster… and he’d just confirmed it. 

This was a mistake. 

He straightened and turned to Jacob, hoping the numbness he was feeling wasn’t showing on his face. “Get her out of this cage. Put her in proper accommodations. She will suffer no more.” 

Jacob had been standing behind him pin-straight like a good soldier. His jaw tightened with disapproval, but he obligingly beckoned over the guards to help fulfill Joseph’s request. Joseph made for the side-door of the Veteran’s Center, for the first time in years wishing all eyes would ignore him. He nearly knocked into ‘Peaches’, who darted out of the building holding a bowl of stew. Despite himself, he glanced back at Rook, finding her no longer even paying attention to him—now she was tense and standing in front of the man as the guards entered her cage. 

Ever the protector, his soulmate was. 

He paused in Jacob’s empty office, lit only by a single dusty desk lamp, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Every move he made with her seemed to be wrong, seemed to push her the slightest bit further away from him. Or, in this case, shoved her all the way onto the other side of the planet. 

Where he saw the pivotal moment in his life that turned him from a nobody to God’s chosen, destined to save people from the apocalypse, she saw an insane man who murdered his own child to appease the voices in his head. 

Why was he so bad at this? _What did he need to do_? 

“Joseph,” Jacob’s clipped voice interrupted his thoughts, and he pulled his hands away from his face. 

“She’s my soulmate,” he replied before the question could come, leaning his weight on Jacob’s desk when it became too much to hold up on his own. 

“I know,” was Jacob’s unexpected response, and he glanced up to find Jacob cross-armed and staring with disapproval. “John called before you got here,” he shrugged. “She’s also my best recruit. She could be the key to taking out the Whitetails.” 

“You don’t need to starve and torture her to train her,” Joseph bit out, his patience having been sucked into the hole in his heart. “If you must make her a soldier, do it as she deserves… as my soulmate.” 

“She has rejected you every chance she’s gotten, Joe,” Jacob said coolly, and Joseph’s shoulders hunched a little. He did not need reminding of that, least of all right now. “Are you even sure she’s really your soulmate?” 

“I spoke her words.” 

“How do you know? Did you see them?” 

“I did not need to see them; I saw _her_ ,” he retorted. 

Without missing a beat, Jacob echoed their baby brother with a waspish, “She isn’t worthy of you.” 

“Enough,” Joseph snapped, glaring at his brother. “Listen to my word and do as I say.” 

That sounded too sharp even to his own ears, so he took a second to breathe, pinching the bridge of his nose. Jacob and John both might think that, but at the moment he felt more as though he wasn’t worthy of her. 

“Everything will come together if we have faith,” Joseph told him. “God chose her for me. And I will wait. But I need her safe in the meantime.” 

Jacob shifted on his feet, disapproval still on his face. “I can’t guarantee that here, Joseph. You know how we train the Chosen, how we condition the Resistance. The weak die all the time.” 

She was not weak. 

“Then you will let her go,” Joseph said wearily, his hands pressing into his eyes again. Lord, he just wanted this miserable day to end. 

“To kill my people and blow up our supplies?” 

“She won’t stay here,” he sighed. 

Every time she’d seen him in any region, she fled to the next immediately after. He vaguely wondered to himself where she’d go this time. Probably back to Holland Valley if she was keeping in touch with them. The Resistance in the region had just barely managed to hold Fall’s End and the few outposts Rook took before she left, minus the fertilizer plant. She would take it back soon enough, spirit her way through it as silent and unseen as a ghost. 

“So she’ll go somewhere else to tear shit up,” Jacob said, ignoring the frown Joseph sent him at his language. “Joseph, let me condition her. There are ways I can do it without starving and dehydrating her; I can put her on a higher dose of Bliss, give her fake bullets, use the Chosen instead of other—”

“What would be the purpose?” he interrupted. “To risk sending her out in a homicidal rage to slaughter her friends?” She would never forgive him. “Just… keep her here as long as you can. She will escape, but it will stop her from doing damage for a while.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he made his way out of the office and across the Veteran’s Center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Finally done with the expositional game scenes! It's gonna get worse for poor lil Man Bun™ from here on out, because come on Joseph, how the fuck did you think that would work out? 
> 
> Special thanks to Littlewritingraven. Recognizable dialogue belongs to Ubisoft.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph struggles with his mistakes. John gets ahead of himself and faces the consequences.

Chapter 5

Alone at last in the comfort of his own cabin, Joseph fell to his knees and wept before the altar. 

“She does not understand,” he whispered to God, his tears dampening the fabric of his pants. “She thinks of me as a monster. I have failed to make her see. How do I make her _see_?”

He did not expect an answer, and he did not receive one, but it still made him irrationally angry. Joseph resisted the urge to bring his fist down onto the floorboards—it would accomplish nothing, and would be an affront in front of God’s altar—but he did bite down on his own lip hard enough that the coppery taste of blood poured across his tongue. 

“Why have you forsaken me?” he hissed as wetness trickled down his chin. “When you sent Moses to free the Jews from Pharaoh, you did not leave _him_ bereft of your voice! Yet you speak to me in pictures with no context and clues with no direction.” 

The candles sputtered as he huffed out a humorless laugh. God chose him to save the world, but how can he if he can’t even save the other half of his soul? Every move he made, whether with her or with the Project, pushed her further away from him, made her hate him just a bit more. Everything he has done with her has been wrong, so who was to say he wasn’t doing things wrong with the Project? 

He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes, shaking away the doubt as best he could. The last thing God showed him was the fiery destruction of the current world, and Joseph in that second had been certain of what he needed to do—he needed to save as many people as he could, save their souls and their bodies from God’s punishment, so they could all emerge in a reborn world with clean souls and move forward into prosperity. He was letting his grief and his fear cloud his faith, keep him from following the Path. 

Ashamed, Joseph wiped away the blood from his mouth and whispered another prayer for forgiveness, for his doubt and his impatience. Impatience was what caused him to frighten her tonight, so desperate was he to help her understand what was at stake, and he would have to pay for it for now. God would not have linked the two of them together for eternity without reason, and so Joseph would wait. 

He rose from the altar and blew out the candles with a puff around the painful lump in his throat, and plodded into his dark bedroom, collapsing into the sheets. He wished he still had her jacket, if only to curl up with and pretend she was there with him, but his grief lessened a little bit when he reminded himself that Rook’s photos showed she still chose to wear it occasionally on warmer days. He wondered if she could smell him on it after Faith returned it to her, the way he could smell her after the Cleansing. Did she care enough to bring the fleece to her pretty face and breathe him in like he did? 

Did it make her ache and slide her little hand down for relief like he had done? 

_Enough_. The thought sent a little frisson of heat southward, but he snarled and turned onto his side, curling up like the wretch he was. He had no right to think of her this way. Not after tonight; not after his mistakes. 

His last thought was to wonder whether or not she appreciated the work dear Marion put into fixing it up nice for her, before drifting off into sleep, and this time he did not dream. 

***

As expected, Rook was not kept in Jacob’s makeshift estate longer than a few weeks before she seized the next opportunity to escape—this time with the aid of her colleague Staci Pratt (as Joseph learned his name was, through Jacob’s invectives) who was being thoroughly reprimanded by Jacob for his insolence. 

She indeed kept to her pattern and fled the Whitetail Mountains, coming full circle and re-entering Holland Valley. They discovered her presence after John found his ranch under Resistance control only a few hours after leaving for Cleansings. He was now permanently bunking in his rooms at the Gate, though to Joseph’s surprise he was taking it rather well… or, at least, not letting Joseph see his anger. Whether it was Joseph’s warnings about his potential future or John realizing it was no longer appropriate to curse Joseph’s soulmate to hell for her chaos, John just shook his head, jaw tense, and quipped lightly, “If she wanted to visit, she could have just asked. I would have prepared the guest room.” 

He was less amicable when he found out she had used Nick Rye’s plane to torch his _YES_ sign, but Joseph liked the new direction he was trying to take for his sake, nonetheless. 

While Rook felt it her duty to corral her way through the county accompanied by her resident dimwits (though others sometimes made appearances as well—his Rook was popular), Joseph avoided showing himself too much in public. He would not broadcast his image like his brothers were wont to do, nor did his voice play at any outposts. He left such matters to his siblings, preferring instead to minister to his Flock on the island, visit his siblings in secret, and keep himself hidden… not out of fear for his life, but out of worry that he might spook her again. Humbled and ashamed, Joseph hid himself like a hermit and drank in news of her through his siblings’ reports once more. 

And his siblings, bless their souls, each tried to help him in their own way. Though Joseph was plagued with the uncertainty that he might never earn the love of his soulmate, there could be no doubt that he had the unconditional love of his Family. 

“I saw your little Wrathling the other day,” John said in a tone too calm (for him anyway) to be casual, as he and Joseph took lunch one afternoon in John’s Gate. “Did Jacob give her a cougar? It didn’t look like a Judge.” 

It got Joseph smiling, at least for a bit. “I don’t know where she got it. She has a bear too.” 

John blew out a huff of a laugh and quipped, “Maybe she’s building an ark somewhere.” 

Where Joseph was warmed by John making light of his hellish soulmate, pretending almost as if she was the wild friend of the family, Jacob preferred to show his love in his blunt, ‘no time for feelings’ manner. Each day he silently sent Joseph old footage of her in training from the Center’s security cameras. There was no real reason to do it, except that Jacob knew he would appreciate being able to watch her. 

Joseph was awestruck at the sheer power she radiated. Unarmed and sober, she glared with ferocity and fought with almighty strength, pulling back when she went up against those who were not willful Project members but nearly killing several of Jacob’s most devoted Chosen until she was dragged away. It was like watching lightning wield a gun, a beautiful and terrifying impossibility. Watching her in Jacob’s trials, she barreled her way through with the grace of violence incarnate, each encounter with an enemy a practiced dance of death that only she knew the steps to, and while he held his breath every time someone threatened her life there was always a part of him that had faith she would get there first. In everyday surveillance footage, Rook scouted the training arenas each day with narrowed eyes, and he knew she was searching for any way to slip out. He never did end up seeing the video of her escape—it seemed Pratt knew their blind spots well enough. 

Photos Jacob hadn’t initially thought were relevant also made their way into Joseph’s hands, things like her fishing in the Henbane with her cougar lounging in her lap, walking through the wilderness with a grumpy-faced girl in a hood, talking on the radio with her brows furrowed, or bent over in laughter alongside her two idiots Boshaw and Drubman. When that particular photograph arrived, he spent all night hunched over it and traced the laugh lines along her face, hoping against hope that one day it would be a look caused by him, and not two brainless hellraisers with more onhand flammable materials than sense. 

Faith checked up on him often, meanwhile, to the point where Joseph was concerned she was neglecting her own Flock. She flounced into the compound nearly every day, accompanied by her Chosen with their Bliss-green haze about them, and delivered flowers for his windowsill. 

“Marigolds,” she said to him once as she dreamily arranged them. “They’re her favorite, you know. She told me.” 

Joseph tried not to succumb to the Envy he felt that his soulmate had told Faith of her favorite things, and not him. “Thank you.” 

Faith hummed in response, and Joseph shifted as he wondered whether or not to ask what else she had said, but his observant Faith caught on. 

“She’s a quiet thing,” she said, turning away from the vase. “She speaks a little more in the Bliss, but not much.” 

“What does she say?” he allowed himself to ask. 

“She likes my dress,” Faith smiled, blushing prettily. “She likes flowers, too, but she says she can’t keep houseplants alive.” Joseph smiled as well, filing away the sweet tidbit for later. “I asked her what her favorites were—that’s when she told me. And… she said she was sad for me, when I told her my… _our_ story.” 

Faith’s smile faded a little then, her fingers picking at her lacy sleeve. But soon she rid her face of the melancholy with a shake of her head. 

“But I told her not to be sad, because that was how I met you, Father,” she finished brightly, reaching over and squeezing his hand. 

“What then?” he breathed, leaning into her, his heart hammering. 

“She got quiet. But I think it’s because she likes to hear about you. I wish you could see how she looks when I talk about you. Oh,” Faith exclaimed suddenly with a laugh. “You could. It’s just like how you look right now!” 

Joseph felt his neck and ears grow hot, and Faith giggled. He smiled at her again with gratitude, though the doubtful part of him hoped he hadn’t ruined whatever intrigue she’d had about him with his story. 

And this was the new normal for Joseph, at least for a time. He would preach, he would pray, and he would let his siblings try their best to distract him from the fact that he was living with only half a soul. 

At night he dreamed about her, though frustratingly none were visions that he could tell. He dreamed of her splayed out on the couch with him in his slummy old apartment in Atlanta when he’d been searching for John, cuddled up to his chest with sleepy eyes and skin free of the blemishes of war as he drew circles on her bare back. He dreamed of her wrapped in white and flushed pink as they danced through a sea of Bliss petals in his church, his Flock and his Family applauding and shouting well wishes. He dreamed of himself as her partner on the other side of the fight, walking through the wild forests of the Whitetail Mountains as she chattered with her gun propped on her shoulder and held his hand. 

Naturally, he dreamed of her naked and wrapped in his sheets, in his Gate below the church, or in his cabin, or in the many squalid apartments he occupied in his search for his stolen brothers, because he was a sinner and she was a beautiful chaos. 

Sometimes they turned to nightmares. In one, Rook leapt from the stone book on his statue only to die a broken mess at the bottom while he screamed and cursed God for taking her away. In another she was delivered to him a bloody corpse riddled with bullet holes, her blood washed away by his tears. On such nights, Joseph was not well, and soon his Flock caught onto his distress. 

He looked upon the sunlit faces of his Flock as he delivered morning mass to them, hoping they didn’t acknowledge the deep, itchy circles under his eyes. 

“The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp.” 

He’d had a dream the night before about heading out to meet her at her Cleansing all those months ago, only this time he found John reading aloud from the Word ministering to others. When Joseph asked him where the Deputy was, he received no answer—John kept his back to his brother and shrugged off any attempts to gain his attention. Angry, Joseph stormed into the river to find her himself, only to stumble as his foot met something cold and solid under the water. 

And it was Rook, paler than the moonlight, laid out with her arms splayed brokenly across the sandy ground, eyes milky and half-open without seeing. 

John had laughed at him while he screamed his grief and hauled her dripping corpse out of the water. God had laughed too. It rumbled through his chest like a thunderstorm had formed in his lungs, an impossible miracle that struck fear in him like he’d never felt before. 

“Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life,” he said through a cottony mouth, “as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb…” 

He realized he had paused just a little too long when heads began to turn and glance at each other. Shaking off his exhaustion, Joseph rushed through the final chapter, thanked his followers and shut the book with a snap. As people shuffled out of the pews with quiet murmurs, Joseph turned away from the congregation and rubbed at his tired eyes, wincing when he reopened them and was hit with unforgiving sunlight streaming through the windows. He thought he might head to his cabin and nap, but a gentle hand on his shoulder made him startle and jerk his head around. 

It was a young woman named Megan, dark haired and face brightly lit in the sunlight. She looked nothing like his Rook—pretty, certainly, but in a demure or timid way, with a round face and an upturned nose, the polar opposite of Rook’s earnest strength and sharp beauty. Megan looked up at him with wide, imploring eyes, and he realized she had spoken. 

“I’m sorry, did you need something?” he murmured, trying to shake off the haze. 

She smiled at him politely, but there was a wrinkle between her brows. “I was just wondering if you were all right. You look tired, Father.” 

Joseph let out a soft chuckle and took the Word off the stand, tucking it under his arm. “I am fine, thank you, Megan.” 

She blushed and skirted her eyes to the floor at the use of her name. It was a common reaction, Joseph had realized in the early days of becoming the Father, and it was why he chose to know them all personally, or at least by name. Such simple joy they took out of knowing the Father took it upon himself to remember their names. 

_Focus, Joseph_ , he reminded himself when he once again realized Megan was talking. 

“…anything I can do?” she was finishing, clasping her hands behind her. 

“Your continued faith in the Project is enough,” said Joseph distractedly, as he scolded himself for his poor treatment of his Faithful. 

“Are you sure?” Megan probed, taking a step forward and twisting the hem of her dress between her hands. “There isn’t _anything_ I can do for you, Father?” 

He frowned down at the emphasis, at the wideness of her eyes, the way her teeth sank into her bottom lip coquettishly and the gradual drift into his space. Her intentions suddenly hit him, and his frown deepened with the righteous wave of pure revulsion he felt. His hand snapped out and closed around her wrist, yanking her forward so he could glare down at her, and she stumbled forward and gaped at him open-mouthed and fearful. 

“Do you truly dare to proposition the Father in the house of God?” Joseph murmured, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage. 

“Forgive me, Father, I-I didn’t…” Megan stammered, her eyes so wide they were almost perfect circles. 

“Was that not your intention?” he asked. “Was this… a _misunderstanding_?” 

He stared at her over the rim of his aviators, daring her to lie and further her sins. Her mouth closed as she swallowed, ducking her head in shame. 

“No,” she whispered, followed by a single sob. 

“Confess your sins, child,” he implored, grabbing hold of her other wrist when she tried to pull away. 

“L-lust,” Megan sobbed, turning her face away from him as far as possible. 

Another wave of disgust hit him, and suddenly Joseph couldn’t stand to be near her anymore. He released one wrist but kept the other in his hold, using it to drag her over towards the slightly open doors of the church. 

“You will atone,” he warned her, “or the Gates of Eden will be shut to you. Jamie!” he barked to the nearest armed guard. “Take her to John. She needs to be Cleansed again, it seems.” 

Jamie looked down his nose at her and nodded, seizing her upper arm and dragging her out of sight. Joseph watched Megan get pulled away in tears and ignored apologies, inexplicably feeling defiled for having laid his hands on her. He looked at his hands, but of course found nothing there. Yet they felt contaminated. He wondered if this was another unexpected effect of his soul bond to the Deputy—alongside godly ecstasy from simple skin-to-skin contact and the inability to stop thinking about her when they were apart, it seemed Joseph would now be physically repulsed by another woman propositioning him. 

He laughed without real humor down at his tainted hands, finding himself both pleased and a little fearful at the newfound side effect. Pleased, because he very much liked the idea of never again touching anyone but Rook, and fearful, because there was a very real chance he’d never get to touch Rook at all, which would make him alone for eternity. How did people whose soulmates died young or forsook them live with themselves afterwards? 

“Father?” someone asked, once again jolting Joseph out of a reverie. 

He muttered apologies to the culprit—Elijah was his name—and headed over to his cabin to shower and wash away the taint. 

***

A few hours later, Joseph had gotten almost no work done, too weary and filled with thoughts of Rook. 

His attention was caught by sudden shouting and commotion outside, and he stood from his desk to peer out the window. To his surprise, he saw John stumble out of a truck, a blood-soaked cloth pressed against the side of his head and unadulterated rage on his face. Joseph tripped slightly over his carpet in his haste to exit the cabin, his arms outstretched to meet his brother as he stormed his way over. 

“You are injured,” Joseph said with confusion. 

He grasped John’s shoulders but pulled away when his right hand met wetness. The sleeve of his shirt was soaked through with blood—why was there so much blood? 

“I’ll explain later,” John hissed, glancing around at their company. 

“I don’t…” Joseph began, but John snarled out a pained noise as he tried to readjust the cloth on his ear. “ _Somebody get the doctor, now_!” Joseph shouted instead to whoever was nearby, lending his shoulder for his brother to lean on as he escorted him over to the cabin. 

Joseph winced as John let out another pained shout when he deposited him on the armchair, before letting out a series of blood-chilling, hacking coughs. When he regained enough breath, his stubborn little brother bit out, “Joseph, I don’t need the fucking doctor—”

“You’ve lost half a pint of blood out of your ear, easily,” Joseph replied with little patience, stomping into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. 

“Ow,” he snapped, when Joseph pulled away the bloody cloth and pressed clean gauze to what looked like the shredded remains of what had been his ear. Was this a _bullet wound_? 

John tried to lean back against the armrest, but sat up abruptly when the movement prompted another round of coughing. Joseph tried not to look rattled as a knock sounded at the door (why would they waste time _knocking_?) before the heavyset doctor Stephen stumbled his way in with an armful of medical kits. John was no less waspish with the doctor than he was with Joseph, snarling invectives as Stephen cleaned away the blood and stitched up the mangled bits of skin like it was nothing (perhaps it was, to him—bullet wounds weren’t exactly uncommon anymore). Joseph all but froze when John’s shirt was unbuttoned to assess the damage, finding bruises absolutely painting his brother’s lean chest. 

“John,” Joseph said earnestly, once John was laid out on his couch with his head propped up on several pillows, gauze wrapped around his hair like a crown. “How did this happen?” 

“It was your fucking soulmate, Joseph!” John shouted, without a care as to who might overhear. “She nearly _killed_ me!” 

His heart fell into his stomach. “What happened?” 

“I—” John started to yell, but shut his mouth with a click and glanced away for a moment. “We recaptured Fall’s End. Sufficed to say, she was _displeased_.” At Joseph’s sharp look, John threw up a hand and added, “And I called her over the radio, invited her to atone for her sins.” 

“And?” Joseph egged. 

John frowned up at the ceiling, pausing to cough again, but it was weaker than the others. He was clearly stalling. 

“ _And_ threatened that her Resistance friends would suffer if she did not,” he finished at last. 

“John,” said Joseph simply, dropping his head into his hands with frustration. “What then?” 

“I tattooed her sin on her and her compatriots, but the Pastor had hidden a gun in his Bible,” he continued, sounding impressed for a moment, before scowling again. “She grabbed it and _shot at me_ , Joseph. My Chosen were able to get me out of the church to Affirmation—but that fucking _sinner_ Nick Rye shot me down over a field near the auto shop. And after I parachuted into the wilderness, your _darling_ love-to-be followed me for miles and _kept_ shooting at me! Look at this!” 

John brandished his arm like a trophy, showing a tear in the upper sleeve near his shoulder from a narrowly missed bullet. If Rook’s aim had been even an inch to the left on her end, it would have struck him straight in the back, maybe pierced a lung, his heart…

“…only reason she stopped and turned back around was because I planned a second-wave attack on the town,” his brother was muttering. “If Jeffries hadn’t called her for help I’d either be dead or we’d still be running. Thank God your little Wrathling is also the protective type. How the fuck is that hell child _your_ soulmate, Joseph? With her bloodlust and her determination to hunt me down, I would think she’d’ve been Jac—Joseph?” 

“Forgive me,” he breathed, his chest feeling so tight that it came out a wheeze. 

John frowned and called his name again, but the sound bounced around the inside of his head, devoid of any meaning. This was his vision, and it had almost come to pass. John’s plane shot down, body falling to Earth, the seal nearly opened… His brother had been _this close_ to death, shot and hunted down at the hands of the woman Joseph had spent all his time over the last few months daydreaming about. 

And Joseph had _seen_ this coming—God had granted him the vision months ago, and yet Joseph had cared more about finding a way to coax Rook to his side and fearing for her safety more than his brother, his own blood. 

What kind of Father was he, if he could not care enough to protect his own Family? 

He was selfish. He grappled at the scars on his shoulder with shaking hands, nails digging in, wanting to tear it back open and suffer anew. Sloth was his sin, and his punishment was almost John’s death. 

His hand was pulled away before it could do much damage, and Joseph blinked to find John up and off the couch— _shouldn’t be_ , he thought vaguely, _should be resting_ —with his hands seized around Joseph’s wrists, his face close and full of concern. 

“Forgive me,” Joseph repeated, falling to his knees at John’s feet. “I have failed you, Brother.” 

“What are you—? Joseph, you’re not—”

“I have warned you before of my vision, John, but I should have known,” Joseph insisted, seizing hold of John’s hands, his shocked face swimming as tears filled his eyes. “ _I should have known_. It was always meant to be her, and I was too busy… wondering if she’d ever think well of me, instead of protecting you, my family—”

“Joseph, the fault was mine,” John said with alarm, sinking down to his knees and grasping at Joseph’s tear-dampened face. “I was Prideful. I launched an attack on the town because I believed I could capture it, the Resistance and the little Wra—the Deputy at the same time. Force her and her friends to repent. It was my sin, not yours.” 

“No John, the fault is not only with you,” huffed Joseph, shaking his head between John’s hands. “God gave me the vision of your death for a reason, and my _Sloth_ led me to ignore it. I could have lost you, my brother…”

The words escaped him on a sob, and he leaned his forehead on John’s shoulder, silently begging for forgiveness as his tears slid down the leather of John’s coat. John granted it despite Joseph clearly being undeserving, his cheek resting on Joseph’s hair, arms winding around his shoulders for comfort. He basked in his brother’s love, his chest tight with the knowledge that John was still alive to give it, no thanks to him. 

“We will go down to the river and Cleanse ourselves, Joseph,” John said earnestly into Joseph’s hair. “We’ll do it together.” 

“Yes,” Joseph breathed, nodding into his brother’s shoulder. “We will strip ourselves of our sins.” 

_And I will not let anything else happen to you_ , he thought privately, as he allowed John to help him up. 

They walked to the Henbane together, his hand in John’s just like when they were children, and for a moment Joseph closed his eyes and pretended his little brother was five again, toddling and stumbling anchored only by Joseph and Jacob’s barely-older hands, as they ambled into the river together murmuring their repentance. Joseph allowed himself no noises of pain as John carefully sliced a second ‘SLOTH’ into a bare spot on his hip using a small hunting knife, but gritted his teeth when it was his turn to cut ‘PRIDE’ into John’s lower back, already purpled and pained by his brush with death. This would be the last time John would ever feel pain caused by him, he promised himself. 

“You will not return to the Valley,” Joseph murmured on the walk back, still clutching onto his brother for dear life. “I will not risk your life again. You will stay with me, and rest. Your Flock will be instructed to defend themselves but remain in the Gate.” 

John looked like he wanted to argue but sighed. “As you wish, Joseph.” 

He saw John off to his rooms in the Gate with quiet words and a drawn-out embrace, before heading off to his cabin, the weariness of weeks with no sleep and the emotional stress of today weighing him down as he collapsed into the sheets. He felt the cuts on his hip open up with the abrupt movement, but he ignored the pain in his skin and focused on the pain in his heart. 

He knew why she was prepared to kill John—he had wronged her, wronged her friends, he was the enemy. Maybe it was even because he was her monstrous soulmate’s brother and she knew it would hurt Joseph to lose him, though he didn’t want to think her so cruel. And he forgave her (how could he not?) but he knew now he would have to be more careful, more wary of what her Wrath could take from him. 

In the morning he would take precautions to keep Jacob and Faith safe. For now, he wrapped himself up in the blanket like a protective cocoon, and took comfort in the knowledge that all of his Family—John, Jacob, Faith, and Rook—were alive and whole. 

He would not fail again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm fudging a bit with the timelines here because Megan would have already slept with Joseph and fled the cult by this point, but it doesn't fit to have a soul-marked Joseph getting another woman pregnant right before he meets Rook. Anyone else find that part of New Dawn weird and kinda OOC? Like why is the Father just casually knocking up his Flock?? Not gonna explain that Ubisoft?
> 
> I apologize for any mistakes. Last night while giving this chap a reread, I realized I lost the most recent draft with a lot of crucial edits, so I had to try and fix things on an old version. 
> 
> Special thanks to MrMcLemons, Littlewritingraven, and EchoPhoenix.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith gives Joseph a gift, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: slightly nsfw, if that needs a warning ;)

Chapter 6

There were celebrations in the Valley, but also at the compound.

Faith and Jacob both abandoned their posts when they heard the news of John’s brush with death to come fuss over him for a few days, and Joseph did not fault them—they were worried, same as him. Which was why Joseph insisted on everyone being armed at all times now, and keeping John in relative hiding. The Flock swooned before him, expressing their gratitude at his safety and promising no harm would come to him again. John scowled at being babied, but did not protest too much, to Joseph’s relief. 

In the Valley, the Resistance swept to all corners of the region and pushed out what few remaining Project members there were. Joseph was prepared to reinvade with his own forces if they dared to try and attack John’s Gate, but the Resistance did not dare to push into the tiny corner the Project lingered in, for whatever reason… 

Joseph hoped it was the good will of their leader, his soulmate, but he did not allow the idea to turn his head from his purpose again. 

He split John’s Flock (those who escaped the region rather than risk fleeing to the bunker, that is) between Faith and Jacob, unsure of whom Rook would target next. He had the suspicion it would be the Henbane, if her pattern continued, but despite Jacob’s protests that he and his Chosen could take care of themselves, Joseph kept extra men surrounding them at all times. They were instructed to check in with each other three times a day at mealtimes to ensure constant contact, and developed emergency defensive procedures should Rook go for another one of his siblings. He had no doubt she wouldn’t remain in the Valley for long, not with John out of the way. 

“Joe, I know you’re worried about her comin’ after us,” Jacob murmured to him in between his orders, “but maybe you should be worried about her comin’ after you too.” 

Joseph almost welcomed the idea, but he knew Rook would not want to be anywhere near him until she had to be, and told Jacob so. She would mow down his Family and free the county before she’d ever feel the need to take him out too, and Joseph refused to let her get far enough to take out even one of his siblings. The knowledge hurt his heart, but he would not turn a blind eye to it any longer. Misguided as she was, she was full of hatred for him and his cause, and would stop at nothing to end the carnage. She might even kill him, if she felt she had to. 

And one day, she did. Metaphorically, anyway. 

He heard the explosions all the way from the island, even before word from Faith’s followers started pouring in through his radio. ‘The Sinner’ had swept over Angel’s Peak in Nick Rye’s tricked-out hydroplane and was in the process of bombing his statue, which Faith and her Flock had so carefully crafted, into crumbling rubble. Joseph slumped over his desk and rested his head in his hands, listening to the radio cycle between crackling and shouting, crackling and gunfire, more crackling and more shouting… 

If Joseph needed a clearer sign that Rook hated him and his message, it had just delivered itself. 

“Pull away,” he mumbled into the receiver, once he’d had enough of hearing his people scream as his love slaughtered them. 

“But Father—” came one nameless man’s out-of-breath response. 

“Do not question me,” Joseph said lowly, grip tightening on the receiver. “My children are more important than any idol. Pull away and go to Faith—she will see to your wounded.” 

“…Yes Father,” the man said over the roar of… what was that, a _rocket_? 

He let his face fall back into his hands as the radio and the distant explosions went silent. Despite himself, Joseph found himself wondering if her neck had healed well enough from the knife wound and the shoddy patch job she’d done, if any injuries she sustained during the chaos in Fall’s End were being treated properly, if she was eating enough (she looked so skeletal in that cage). His sigh came out as more of an angry huff. He was pathetic, and his obsession with her was dangerous. 

Yet he found his hand drifting back towards the receiver, suddenly seized with the uncontrollable desire to talk to her… reassure her. What if she thought this would be what made him turn his back on her for good, what made him decide she was not worthy of being his, in salvation or in love? His heart bounced off the inside of his ribs as his fingers trembled around the knob, finding her frequency. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Joseph heard himself say through numb lips. “I know why you tried to kill my brother. Why you are forsaking me. I’m not angry…”

His throat closed and he was forced to pull the receiver away so he could swallow, so she wouldn’t hear the shake in his voice. 

“I could never be angry,” he breathed. “You think I am a monster, and that is my fault…” What the hell was he supposed to say? “Perhaps not now, but one day… I would like the chance to prove to you that I can be worthy of you.” 

He had said too much. Joseph set the receiver down, tears burning his eyes, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth as he tried not to imagine Rook listening to his pleas and scoffing at them. ‘Child-killer,’ she’d call him to her friends, and she wouldn’t be wrong. He shouldn’t have said anything, not now, not before. 

But then, the radio crackled like she had opened communication on her end, and he lifted his hanging head eagerly. Anything she said wouldn’t trigger or break their bond—it had to be directly spoken, unfettered by modern technology, he knew, but maybe she didn’t? He wanted so badly to know how she sounded; it would almost certainly be music. 

As quickly as the sound came, it disappeared again, like she had considered saying something but thought better of it, and Joseph slumped in disappointment. He did not linger any longer near the radio, suddenly unsure if he was ready to hear whatever she had to say, and stood from his desk to seek out John in the Gate for counsel and company. 

He didn’t want to be alone right now. 

***

“Father, come to my Gate,” Faith’s voice called coaxingly over the radio, some mournful days later. “I have a gift for you…”

Until that moment, there had been no more signs of the Deputy. The Faithful at the compound were the only ones to speak her name, out of resentment for her audacity in destroying the Father’s statue… ironically unaware that she was indirectly destroying the Father himself right under their noses. Joseph had thrown himself back into his work, giving as much attention and energy to it as he could muster before collapsing, spent, into his bed, too tired to dream. It was the only way he knew to turn his thoughts away from her—if he was too busy with God’s work, he could not be led astray again. 

Until Faith cooed such lovely words from the walkie inside his pocket, and Joseph’s heart dropped into his stomach. She had the Deputy again. Faith would not say such things unless she had his Rook with her, waiting for him, _waiting for him_ …

“Thank you,” he breathed with true gratitude, hearing her giggle in response. “I will come…”

_Stay on the Path, Joseph._

“…once my work here is done,” Joseph finished on a sigh. 

“We understand,” Faith replied. “We will wait for you.” 

_We_ , she said, not _I_. 

So Joseph spent most of the day getting things in order, attending to morning mass as planned and checking in with John to confirm he was still safely (though grumpily) sequestered out of sight in the Gate, his ear and woefully bruised ribs healing well. Just in case, he radioed Jacob to confirm all was well, though he needn’t have bothered, knowing exactly where Rook was. He arranged for his remaining affairs to be handled by trusted Chosen from John’s Flock in case he did not make it back in time, before finally, _finally_ allowing himself to leave the compound. 

His hammering heart had found its way into his throat again as he watched the heavy forests of his island turn into the grassy plains of the Henbane, catching sight of the empty remains of his statue. It was little more than a hollow, caged system of bent support beams, boulders of broken concrete resting in a haphazard pile at the base. Rook hadn’t cut any corners in destroying his image. 

He gripped his seatbelt as pure terror welled up in him with each bump and swerve of the truck, biting back the urge to shout at his driver to turn back. He couldn’t fix this. He had tried, and made things infinitely worse. She hated him, wanted him destroyed. Why was he going at all? She didn’t want to see him. He would say the wrong thing again, and soon the hatred she felt would be irreversible, if it wasn’t already. 

He blew out a shaky breath as his thoughts raced, alerting his guard companions in the truck. 

“Father?” his driver, Harvey, said with clear concern. 

“Fine, I am fine,” Joseph bit out, hiding his numb face with a hand over his mouth. “Tired,” he added, by way of explanation. 

“You work hard for us, Father,” called Mason from his position at the heavy machine gun on top of the truck. “Thank you.” 

Joseph nodded in gratitude, exhaling another breath to try and calm down. He could do this; he just had to be cautious. She was proclaimed by God to be his, he reminded himself. They would get there in the end, once the war was over and the Collapse had come. Even if he did not manage to convince her in this world, once she saw he was right, perhaps he would have her in the next world. He just had to have faith. 

And then they pulled up in front of the Gate, and his panic returned, but only for a split second. Because after he stepped out of the truck, sunlight and humid wind warming his bare back and playing with his hair, he saw her, and his heart stopped instead. 

She spun in mirthful little circles in the Bliss fields outside of the Gate, eyes closed and arms thrown out wide for balance, her scars faded and her cheeks fuller and healthier. All traces of anger were gone from her face, the weight of her problems lifted from her shoulders, making her seem so weightless she looked like she might fly away. Long lashes caressed the freckled rounds of her cheeks, her mouth parted slightly open in a serene smile. Off to the side, Faith was perched atop a throne of rocky boulders like mother nature, humming quietly while her hands busied themselves with weaving a crown of Bliss flowers, daisies and black-eyed Susans. Another crown already rested crookedly on Rook’s head, secured into place by stems woven into her curls. Some of the petals had fallen off and were clinging to her hair, hanging free from her standard braid again to flutter in the wind as she danced, looking for all the world like a joyful little wood nymph. 

Joseph stopped by a gnarled tree at the cusp of the flower field and watched her twirl, clinging with one hand onto a branch to stop himself from wandering over in case he frightened her, clutching at his chest with the other. She absolutely stole his breath at how stunning she was. What a gift God has endowed him with, he thought. He wished he could be forever stuck in this moment, time never moving forward, just watching. 

It was at that moment that Faith perked up, spotting him in the distance. She beamed and set her finished crown in her lap, her mouth forming words lost in the hiss of the word, but it looked like a greeting. He tensed, hoping she would not alert Rook to his presence; instead, she hopped off the rocks and skipped towards him, her hand reaching out for a moment to caress Rook’s shoulder. 

“She searches for you in the Bliss,” Faith whispered, her voice so quiet it sounded like it was the wind talking. “She hoped you would come back.” 

His breath escaped him at the terrifying hope her words brought on—was it true? Faith smiled and rose up on her tiptoes to place her flower crown on his head, before merrily drifting back towards her Gate, the white flowers brushing lovingly over her bare legs. Faith paused to whisper something to Rook before disappearing between the open doors. Joseph froze when it made Rook blearily blink her eyes open and lower her arms, ceasing her dance. She turned her pretty little head and saw him, and he held his breath—

And she held her arms out to him, stumbling closer, begging him with wide eyes and grasping hands for him to… come to her? Hold her? He could do that, if that’s what she wanted. 

Hesitantly, Joseph released the tree and stepped out into the light of the sun, holding out his hand to meet hers when they met in the middle of the Bliss field. It was gloved again (she liked gloves—he wondered why) and the leather was hot against his palm, a comforting kind of warmth, like curling up in front of a fire or cradling a mug of something warm on a cold day. He closed his eyes and sighed as he brought it up to his face to feel it, the weight of his weeks of stress and weariness and fear melting off him at her balmy touch. For a moment, he forgot why he was ever anxious to begin with, but he was reminded with a jolt when her other hand started brushing over his bare chest, grazing his new ‘SLOTH’ carving in her wanderings. He opened his eyes again as he came back to himself, blinking away the Bliss sparkles, watching her stumble her way closer until she had successfully reeled herself into his embrace. 

“Wait, my love,” he said, a little tremble in his voice as Rook’s free hand continued to wander all over his back, up his arm, over his stomach. “Perhaps we should talk… I think we—”

She interrupted him with a frustrated noise, and Joseph frowned at her, wondering what was wrong. He watched as her hand whipped towards her face, her teeth sinking into the leather tip of her glove to yank her hand free, and he knew what she was after. He opened his mouth to protest again, try and get her to just wait a moment, but her bare palm made full contact with his chest and all thoughts of anything but _warm, good, more_ fled his mind. 

Lakes of fire and brimstone were _nothing_ compared to the touch of his soulmate. He made a gut-punched noise and let go of her hand to pull off the other glove, fingers tangling with hers and pressing his soul mark into her palm, the rosary beads pushed to the side to make room. Rook echoed the noise, trying to press her whole self into his chest, but _damn it_ , her stupid bomber jacket was in the way. It was too hot to wear anyway, he decided, and pushed it off her shoulders into a heap at their feet. Rook made such a pleased little noise when she was able to wrap her bare arms around him like a stubborn vine, sighing with pure delight as her sun-warmed cheek rested against his shoulder while her fingers trailed ticklish circles over his back. 

It was the most unimpeded contact he’d ever had with his soulmate and he basked in the sheer pleasure of it, suddenly too weak to stand. Where the first brush of her forearm against his shoulder set him on fire and had him silently screaming all the way to the helicopter, this extra contact was like coming home after too long away, and made him melt into the grass. 

With a hand on her bare shoulder, he guided her down to sit between his legs, his back meeting the scratchy bark of the tree, nearly knocking Faith’s flower crown off his head. She made another upset noise when she was forced to stop groping his back to allow the position, but he graciously rectified the situation by slipping his own hands underneath her tank top around her waist and pressing her closer into his chest. His eyes trailed down and caught sight of her ‘WRATH’ tattoo scrawled over the graceful arch of her collarbone, a messy complement to the jagged ‘SLOTH’ on his hip, but any context behind their respective sins fled his mind when Rook reached under her own shirt to grab his rosary-wrapped hand and drag it upwards. 

Joseph sucked in a breath at the sheer audacity, her hand curling his fingers over her ribs, fingertips grazing the bottom of her bra covetously. God, his soulmate was literally writhing in his lap, egging him to touch her like he always wanted, like he dreamed. This was too good to be true… and perhaps somewhat inappropriate to be doing in God’s garden, the glitter and falling petals and Bliss fog swirling around them in a merry dance. 

“Rook,” he stuttered, mind desperately searching for the words he needed (‘stop’ sounded not quite right, because he didn’t want her to stop, but something similar). 

Rook whined at the drop of her name and shunted her hips towards his, and any efforts to think fled Joseph’s mind. He withdrew one hand to tangle in her hair, knocking off her crown to the ground where it disappeared into a puff of Bliss. 

When next he blinked, he found himself with his mouth latched around her neck, her unadulterated moans a beautiful chorus in his ear. His hand, still covered by hers, had halted to draw teasing patterns on her ribs (too prominent, he thought dreamily, she needed to eat more), but now it slid up and underneath her bra like she wanted. She was soft and full in his palm, the beads of the rosary cradling her as his fingertips flicked teasingly over the soft skin of her nipple. Rook whined at his touch, the sound vibrating in her throat and tickling his lips. She ground herself in his lap again, the hard press of her denim-covered thigh against his erection making him tremble a little. 

“My Rook,” he murmured in wonder against her throat. 

Perfect, he thought, she was _perfect_. Every noise he coaxed out of her was music, everything he touched flawlessly crafted by God’s hand. Each gentle pinch and tug and caress of her breast caused her to drag her hips over his again and again, the contact better than anything his sinful mind had dreamed up yet even despite the two layers of denim between them. The sun baptized them with a warm glow, and he gladly licked the sweat off her throat like an offered libation. The knife wound on her neck was healing and free of makeshift stitching, he was glad to see, but remained an angry red and as jagged as jigsaw, and he pressed a little mournful kiss to it as though that would help heal it quicker. 

Rook made another frustrated noise that gave him pause once more—was he hurting her?—before she dragged her hand in a slow trail down to the button of his jeans like she meant to touch him, _like she meant to touch him_. The thought of her hands on him made his hips jerk up sharply, almost dislodging her from his lap, but before she could do more than grin dreamily and dip her teasing little fingers past the hem of his jeans, he stopped her with a gentle hand on her wrist. This was about her; his time would come later. 

Rook made a noise of protest like the stubborn thing she was, and he chuckled into the softness of her throat at how reminiscent she sounded of an angry kitten. He pressed an apologetic kiss underneath her ear, and then a few more because the sweet sigh she made was beautiful. Joseph coaxed her closer with one hand on her thigh, the other still playing with her breast, and she obliged him with another head-spinning wiggle, scooting herself so close her legs hugged his hips. 

“Rook,” Joseph murmured again, with so much fondness she sighed again and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. 

With each passing second, she melted on top of him into a boneless puddle of pleasure, hands occasionally swiping over his bare skin in the brief moments her senses returned to her. Joseph held her close with one arm wrapped taut around her, his hand tracing little circles on her back, the other hand still curled over her breast, thumb flicking every so often over the tight bud of her nipple. She murmured wordlessly with every pass until they were just lying there, leaning on each other, hands resting on bare skin with comfortable pleasure instead of sexual desperation. Her hair tickled his cheek with each puff of the wind and he closed his eyes a moment, savoring it. Joseph had never felt more at home, more relaxed. Why couldn’t he have this every day, instead of in stolen bursts every few weeks or so? 

The answer returned to him like a cold douse of water: because she feared him. Joseph tilted his head to look down at her, and she grumbled a protest and snuggled her head closer against his shoulder. She did not fear him here, not even a little, but out there, where everything was so much harder… He was suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to tell her everything in his heart. 

“I will do right by you,” Joseph promised, watching her lashes flutter as she blinked lazily against his chest. “I’m sorry I frightened you, when—”

He stopped himself, unsure if he wanted to ruin the peace by reminding her of their time at St. Francis. The frustration and shame crept back in through the pleasant haze, and his hand slipped out of her bra, but she let out another displeased noise before he could withdraw entirely, so he rested it around her waist instead. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated instead, pressing his cheek a little harder against the top of her head. “Ever since God showed me His plan, I always thought… what we were doing was justified. That we were doing whatever evils were necessary to save as many people as we could. But…”

He wondered if it was worth it, Joseph didn’t say. Worth losing her over. Or was that selfish of him? Jacob said they were sacrificing the needs of the many for that of the few, but was it wrong for Joseph to want to sacrifice the needs of all of them, himself included, just for her? 

He could tell she was waiting for him to speak, listening patiently with eyes shut as she thumbed at the jagged carving of ‘GREED’ along his upper arm, and he obliged. 

“I worry now, that what I’m doing is wrong,” Joseph confessed on a whisper. “God proclaimed that we should belong to each other, but it seems whenever I reach out for you, He punishes me. My baby brother almost died—” By her hand, he left unsaid, but Rook didn’t look put out by the implication, “—because… because I was too busy daydreaming about you, worrying if you were all right, wondering how to show you that I am not the monster the Resistance makes me out to be. Or… how I make _myself_ out to be,” he added on a scoff. “I was Slothful, and took my punishment.” 

Rook lifted her head a little as if to question him, so he took the hand idling on his arm and guided it down to his scarred hip. She squinted at it like she hadn’t noticed it before, her fingertips tracing around the angry red edges lightly as though hyperaware of hurting him, and a frown started on her face. 

“Don’t look like that, my love,” he murmured fondly, chancing a kiss on top of her head, and that settled her right down with a sigh. “It is necessary—freeing—to carve sin into one’s flesh, to expose it to the world without shame. A warning sign branded into the skin, a repentance accepted and undertaken.” 

He will never again forget to protect his Family, and if he found himself faltering, Joseph was prepared to claw open the scars again so they would never heal, a constant reminder in the form of pain. He just wished he could protect her as well. Joseph glanced down at her, finding her eyes closed again, and let loose another sigh into her hair. He couldn’t keep her locked up—he knew that, as much as he wanted to. It would be like caging a phoenix, unique and eternal and strong, meant to be free and wild. She would never be happy, and she would never forgive him. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, tightening his hold on her. “I’m scared for you, Rook.” 

“Mmm?” was her questioning response, not lifting her head. 

“I want you safe,” Joseph answered, his questing fingers flicking over tiny scars that littered her skin—was there any skin left untouched by damage? “But I will not cage you. Not forever. But you will never keep yourself out of danger, so all I can do is pray you stay alive. I can’t stop this war, but I want to—God help me, I do, because then I wouldn’t have to wonder if you’re hurt, or starving yourself, or dead somewhere.” He gritted his teeth in frustration. “You are an obsession, Rook. I fear the next time I let myself think of you, I’ll hear of someone’s death. Jacob’s. John’s—for good this time. Yours.” He swallowed thickly, a montage of his various nightmares playing on loop. “Some days I wonder if it’s our bond that makes me like this. It’s impossible not to think of you, easy to let it consume me. Is it the distance between us, or the incomplete bond?” 

Joseph tensed when he realized he had the opportunity to see her mark, see his words embodied on her skin, but sank back down when he realized he would have to move her. A cursory sweep of her bare arms ( _why so many scars, Rook, what have you been doing?_ ) revealed nothing, and Joseph sighed with disappointment, not at all prepared to strip her in search of it. 

“Do you feel the same, Rook, when I’m away?” he asked, not really looking for an answer. “Do you dream about me like I do you?” 

_Do you think of me when you touch yourself, like I do?_

He blushed despite having her literally writhing in his lap and shoving his hand onto her breast no more than twenty minutes ago, and shook away the tantalizing thought. 

“I just hope, one day, soon, you will speak my mark,” he breathed, tears pricking his eyes at how _desperately_ he wanted it to happen. “And you’ll be as much mine as I am yours.” 

He had to stop, or he would weep. He inhaled a breath through his nose, trying to shake away the melancholy, the swirl of the Bliss petals slowing in the air almost in tandem with his sadness. He looked down to see if she had noticed his embarrassing state, but she was still and peaceful on his chest, mouth parted and eyes closed. Was she sleeping? 

He shook his head with utter fondness, wondering how much of his vocal musings she had actually caught. He shook her shoulder gently. 

“Rook?” 

She hummed in response—not quite asleep, then—and lolled her head to look up at him, eyes flicking open. 

Joseph’s heart stopped at the pure white film that had settled over the green of her eyes like a milky pool. 

“No,” came out of his mouth, voice cracking. 

Rook just barely had the sense of mind to frown at him, but her head dropped back down onto him like she didn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore. Joseph scrambled to his feet, seizing ahold of her and carrying her in a rapid stumble out of the flower field. God’s garden vanished in a puff of green to be replaced with sun-dried, golden grass, and Joseph laid her down in it as carefully as his trembling limbs would allow. 

He’d let his Sloth overtake him _again_ , too caught up in the joy of holding her, too busy with pouring his heart out to her, to remember her poor tolerance for the Bliss. Too much Bliss was deadly for those with her kind of countenance, and those who could survive it lost their minds. 

Faith promised not to make her an Angel, but Joseph nearly made her one out of sheer distraction. 

“You must go,” he cried, taking a step back from her. “Run from me! My Sloth… I could have _killed_ you!” 

She could have died. His Rook. And it would have been his fault. She would have died in his arms and he would have been too caught up in his own woes to notice. He couldn’t _breathe_ —

Rook’s head swiveled up from the dry grass to look at him, the whiteness of her eyes already fading, but her frown deepening. To his horror, her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but she couldn’t, because it wouldn’t be—

“No!” Joseph shouted, his hand clamping over her mouth. “Don’t. You can’t. Not yet. You _can’t_ …”

She looked so confused. He had to go, before he hurt her again. He pulled his hands away and jammed them over his ears in fear of hearing anything but the angry invective he wished so badly she would say, before he ran away from her, his flower crown dropping behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you enjoyed! This was my fav chapter for reasons ;) 
> 
> Special thanks to MrMcLemons, Danimals, Littlewritingraven, Avrett and Love.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph repents, and Rook's about fed up.

Chapter 7

“Keep the Deputy away from the Bliss,” was the last thing Faith, or anyone from the Family, heard from Joseph before he locked himself away in his cabin.

They all tried to speak to him, question him. Jacob radioed him from the Whitetail Mountains every day, trying to send him more reports and then demanding answers for Joseph’s silence in his quiet way, like a hunter trying not to spook a wild animal. Faith tearfully pleaded through the door or the radio, depending on what occupied her that day, for him to come and see his love. 

_She is there_ , Faith coaxed, _still searching_ , but Joseph heard no more after he covered his ears again, heard only the roar of his own blood pounding frantically in his panic. He could not stand to hear anything about her—it would only draw him to her again, and he would hurt her, as was his way. 

John, meanwhile, bullied his way out of the Gate once word reached him and went through cycles of knocking on the door and pleading with Joseph to please just talk to him, then pounding his fists on the wood and yelling invectives and demands like a child having a tantrum. Very like John, but Joseph just wanted him to go away—couldn’t he see Joseph could not help him? 

Some of the Flock chanced knocking on his door, and even left some things on his porch—knitted blankets, flowers, books, home-cooked food—hoping they might cure the Father of whatever ailed him. They didn’t know, he thought, as he caught them at it through the window one time. They thought he was their savior, their protector, but they didn’t know he was useless to protect anyone. His daughter, his wife, his brother, his soulmate. All of them were either dead or harmed because of his sins. The Flock would be no different. He loved them, so they would be subjected to the same fate. He was not fit to guide them. 

For many days he knelt at the altar until his joints screamed and his knees scuffed to bleeding, tears streaming down his face with his guilt. He needed God’s guidance more than ever, wanted it so badly it felt like his chest was about to burst open from the sheer frustration of it, but He stayed ever silent. In a mix of retaliation and penance, Joseph carved his angry red ‘SLOTH’ open over and over again with each prayer until the blood left a permanent dark stain on the wood, whimpering with the pain. It was a papercut compared to the pain of absolute betrayal he felt with each day of continued silence. 

Some days he wondered if God even understood how important this was. It was a stupid question—God knew all—but Joseph could find no explanation for why God wouldn’t at least grant him another vision to guide him through things, especially as his every move just made everything worse. Joseph almost longed for the days when he was driving himself insane questioning whether or not she even was his soulmate. Back then it was a maddening mystery, but now… now it was a dangerous obsession that was getting his loved ones nearly killed. 

“ _I hope she does not destroy you, Joseph_ ,” John had said once. John was almost right, Joseph thought to himself as he lay in his own blood, having exhausted himself beyond anger or grief. Joseph was destroyed, at least for now, but only because he had nearly destroyed her first. 

He scoured the Book for answers, on the days when he entirely gave up on receiving any guidance. Everything else had gone as it had predicted: John, the first seal, bearing his crown of wealth and sin; then Jacob, wielding the warring sword as the second seal; his Faith as the third seal, with her scales of Bliss to bring balance between Faithful and non-believers alike; and finally his Hell as the fourth seal, following the White Horse, to bring unparalleled death upon their corners of the world. The remaining seals would be opened to bring the stars down to earth, to bloody the moon and sound the seven trumpets, and bring God’s hellfire down upon the world—this he knew, this he expected. But what was he missing? Joseph’s hands shook with his frustration as he shoved his way through the pages. 

“ _Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it, because the time is near_ …” 

Why did their Savior speak to John the Apostle so clearly, outright blessing him with His words, where Joseph received unexplained visions of carnage, a dead wife and a test in the form of a premature daughter struggling for life? Was Joseph less worthy? Perhaps he was. His people might live through the Collapse, but they would emerge with a weak and frail man for a shepherd, too waylaid by his own sins to guide them to prosperity. 

And what would Rook be? She was strong, he knew, strong enough to resist God’s will for months, strong enough to attack the second piece of her own soul… at least metaphorically. But would he get her killed, like he almost just did, if they both somehow made it through the Collapse? Maybe the answer was that Joseph should be the one to die in the hellfire, a cancer successfully rooted out, and she would lead them to success in the new Eden. She rallied the Resistance so well, a heroic figurehead of a war he thought was misguided on their end, but perhaps not…

Someone knocked on his door again, a gentle, quiet thing, and Joseph startled. It wouldn’t be his brothers with a knock so timid—maybe Faith, he thought vaguely, but traces of whispering made their way across the cabin. His Flock again… no, no longer _his_ Flock, for he could not be their shepherd. He was so tired, his blood sticky and cold on his hands and stomach, and everything hurt. He had no more energy to think. 

Joseph staggered as he lifted himself with a hand on the altar, his bare heel slipping in his blood. There was so much of it… He might have overdone it. His head spun a little when he straightened upright, forcing him to hunch back down over the altar as oxygen struggled to reach his brain. For one blissful second, Joseph thought of nothing, the rush of blood in his ears a calming ambience, but it was gone too soon. There came a second knock even smaller than the last, barely audible over the lingering ring in his ears, but the quick shuffle of footsteps shuffling away signaled their departure like they had lost their nerve. The headrush waned as his guilt returned—his Flock were kind and concerned, and he could only repay them with shame. 

He should sleep. Maybe he had exhausted himself into dreamlessness this time, he thought as he ambled into the kitchen. His mouth was dry, so he let water pour into his cupped hands from the sink and slide with cool relief down his throat, tasting slightly of the tang of blood from his fingers, before stumbling towards his bedroom. 

He was not allowed to lay there longer than a few minutes, because just as the sting of his wounds were dulling enough to allow him to drift off, a loud bang caused Joseph to startle upright. He frowned and flopped back down at the familiar sound of heavy boots indignantly thudding across his living room, throwing an arm over his face like a coward so he would not have to face his brother. 

“I kicked down your door,” was Jacob’s curt greeting. 

“So I heard,” Joseph sighed. 

“Get up.” 

Joseph lifted his arm off his face, shocked at his brother’s audacity to command the Father. Although why he was shocked, he could not say—the man had already proudly kicked the door in. 

“You’re covered in blood,” Jacob grumbled with his arms crossed. “The hell’ve you been doing in here, Joe?” 

“Penance.” Joseph sat up on the wrinkled bed, but his head spun again and he hunched back over, feeling every bit as pathetic as he probably looked. “I did not wish to be disturbed.” 

“The Flock needs their Father, and your _penance_ has already gone on too long.” 

“The _Father_ is not fit to lead them any more than he is fit to keep his own soulmate safe,” Joseph hissed, curling in on himself further as the hollow pit in his stomach caved in. 

Jacob blew out an exasperated breath, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for two days. I have your so-called soulmate locked in my Gate.” 

His chest heaved a little as he was forced to hear of her, and yet it was still a balm to his grieving soul. 

_You need no more information, Joseph, don’t ask him about_ —

“When-when did she arrive?” 

Greed might be another sin he needed to add to his growing repertoire. 

“About three days after you decided to become a hermit. Faith dropped her over the border and her Chosen countered the Deputy’s attempts to sneak back in. Said she doesn’t want her risking the Bliss… which sounds nothing like our sister,” added Jacob with a quirked brow. “I assume that’s your doing?” 

Joseph turned his face away in shame. “She is safe there?” 

“As safe as anyone can be,” Jacob confirmed, thankfully allowing Joseph to change the subject without fuss. “She’s been locked in her room since we caught her attacking a prisoner van near Clagett Bay. Armed guards at all times, deadlock sealed. Not having a repeat of John’s shitty security.” 

Joseph frowned, wondering what Jacob planned to do with her all caged up like he promised he’d never do, but he was not able to give it much thought before Jacob seized his shoulders in a punishing grip. 

“Come back with me, and we’ll settle this once and for all,” his brother commanded. “No more letting her chip a little bit more and more off of us, off of _you_. End this, Joe.” 

“I nearly killed her,” Joseph lamented, trying to shrug off Jacob’s grip and failing miserably in the face of his raw strength. “I will do it again. I fail a little harder every time I see her.” 

“This is why it needs to stop,” Jacob insisted, giving his shoulders a frustrated shake. “Either she’s your soulmate, or she isn’t. If she is, we’ll find a way to convince her— _all_ of us. If not, then she’s Hell, just like you said, and we can break her for the Project just like the others.” 

God, the very thought of breaking her _hurt_ , and he let out a whine and shook away the tears already starting to fall. “But I know, Jacob—I _know_. There is no room for doubt.” 

Not after the sheer ecstasy of being touched by her. Not after the countless dreams and hours of longing and the way her uninhibited self silently begged and writhed for his embrace and the pleasure of his hands on her skin. 

“Then face her. We will find her mark for confirmation, whether she’s willing to give it up or not. Without harming her,” Jacob added, when Joseph sent him a sharp look. “You must face the source of your sins. That is what you always tell us.” 

The two brothers stared at each other, and Jacob’s gaze won—of course it would, he was rested, fed, well of mind (as much as a war-torn soldier could be, anyway) and he was right. Joseph neither had the energy nor the stubbornness to argue against his own advice, and dropped his tear dampened face into his hands with a defeated nod. 

“Not like this,” Joseph said, gesturing to his sweaty, bloody figure. “I need strength to face her.” 

“Did you eat?” Jacob said, looking him over and frowning at what he saw. “I’ll make you something. Clean yourself up.” His frown deepened at the still seeping ‘SLOTH’ staining his jeans. “Bandage that.” 

Joseph almost had it in him to quip ‘yes sir’, if his weary body wasn’t greedily screaming for the promise of care after the brutal treatment he’d inflicted over the last few days. Jacob strode out of the bedroom and immediately began banging around in the kitchen, muttering to himself, and Joseph beelined for the bathroom to wash the grime off his shaky figure. He hissed as the hot stream smarted at his cuts, but decided to forgo the bandages after emerging clean despite his brother’s ‘orders’, feeling it would be appropriate to face her with the stinging reminder not to fall too far into her, not to let himself hurt her with his carelessness. He covered it up with a black collared shirt to prevent stains from showing, before stepping out into the cool cabin to find Jacob grumpily pointing at a simple meal of canned soup and buttered toast. He murmured his thanks as he sat down to eat, resisting the urge to inhale it as his stomach cramped from the days of emptiness. Jacob had the good sense not to watch him, but made a disapproving noise when he stepped into the altar room and likely found his blood drying on the floors, returning to rummage under the sink for cleaning supplies. 

“Leave it,” Joseph said tiredly as he pushed away his empty bowl. 

“We have time. Finish your food,” Jacob added, peeking his head around the doorway to glare. 

Joseph smiled at his brother’s newfound penchant for bossing him around, but obliged anyway, pulling his toast over. His mood soured again as he listened to the sounds of his brother scrubbing his blood off the floor, anguish returning with a twinge of disgust at himself. He endangered his love, turned away from his Flock and forced his elder brother to care for him like he was an invalid. Rook would take one look at him in that bunker and see how weak and pathetic he was, and maybe this time she’d seize the opportunity to break him for good. The idea almost gave him comfort, bizarrely—he’d rather succumb to her chaos than inflict any more on her. 

Jacob emerged with his sleeves rolled up looking even more cross, if that were possible, a silent warning in his gaze that commanded something along the lines of ‘stop going there’. “Chopper’s out back, if you’re ready.” 

He wasn’t, but he nodded anyway, trying to shrug off the weariness as he followed his brother out of the cabin and into the night. His porch was still littered with gifts and he choked a little with the guilt, but tried to mimic Jacob’s casual posture as if his Flock weren’t pointing and gasping that the Father had emerged, as if he wasn’t heading to perhaps the defining moment of his life moving forward. He felt too weak and weary to do more than just nod in acknowledgement at them, hands clasped behind his back in case the urge to wring them hit him. 

Whereas each trip to see Rook beforehand had been a wonderwork of various emotions—curiosity, excitement, nervousness, all-encompassing terror—Joseph felt a surprising calm settle over him as he and Jacob sat without speaking in the back of the roaring helicopter. Perhaps he had exhausted himself too much to worry, or perhaps he was sure this would be like all the other times he’d raced to her side the moment he was able to and he’d just accepted it. He was too tired to figure out which it was, but regardless, he could not help but look forward to laying his eyes upon her grace again… even if that grace would be juxtaposed by the flames of her rage. Either way, it would be a sight to behold. 

“Joe, get out of your head,” Jacob’s curt voice said through the microphone, and Joseph looked around to see a stern look pointed in his direction. 

He rubbed at his forehead with a shrug. “It’s full of her.” 

Jacob made such a face that shouted ‘ew, feelings’ that Joseph couldn’t help but laugh at it, and if Jacob perked up a little at his brother’s joy, he would never have admitted it. 

They touched down outside of Jacob’s Gate, greeted by far more armed guards than were surely necessary. Jacob ignored Joseph’s questioning look and waved him through the throng. More guards patrolled the hallways with LMGs strapped to their backs, pausing to nod and greet the both of them. Joseph wondered if he hadn’t been the only one to take John’s near-death experience poorly, or if Jacob expected Rook’s friends to send a small army after her. Neither were unreasonable. 

Jacob led Joseph deep— _very_ deep—into one of the sub-levels of the bunker, pausing in front of a deadbolted metal door sitting innocuously between crates of dehydrated food and Bliss. The dread hit him at last, and he clutched at his chest to try and stop it from heaving while his thoughts started to race again. She wouldn’t be Bliss-drunk this time, so he’d probably be on the receiving end of her glares. Did she remember his words in the Bliss? He wasn’t sure she had even remembered the first time. Or perhaps she did and thought he was tricking her. He knew better than to hope. But what if she did remember? Her last view of him would have been Joseph running like a coward, shouting about sin and begging her not to speak. If she didn’t think him crazy before, she likely did now…

The creak of the door startled him back into reality—oh God, she couldn’t see him like this, pathetic and scared and weak at the mere thought of her—and he held his head just a little bit higher, whispering a small prayer for mercy as the door swung properly open. 

Rook was, as promised, unharmed, though cuffed to a bolted-down chair facing the doorway as though made ready for him. The rest of the room boasted similar utilitarian provisions, another set of cuffs lying on the single rumpled bed where she was likely made to sleep. The raw fury of her glare when she spotted him in the doorway was… surprisingly cathartic, as he took in the sharp green of her eyes lacking any traces of Bliss intoxication. Her mouth was gagged with black cloth, but she let out a muffled snarl anyway, like a cornered animal. Jacob huffed with amusement at the noise, and if possible her glare grew even harsher. 

“Go,” Joseph murmured to him, without turning away from her. 

He left unsaid what they were both thinking—this was too private to share, even with his brother. 

Jacob nodded and pulled the door closed behind him with a quiet, “I’ll be outside.” 

The moment the door sealed shut with a gust of air, Rook began struggling with all her might against her bindings, letting out painfully angry grunts. He frowned at the red rings that were already welting around her wrists, and only just stopped himself from reaching out to stop her—he couldn’t touch her again, he needed to keep her safe. Joseph could do nothing but stand there miserably and watch as she tried flinging herself up and away from him, as though expecting him to lash out at her like a beast that had finally cornered its prey. Did she think he ordered this? 

“Please stop,” he pleaded, chancing a few steps towards her. “You’re hurting yourself.” 

She never once paused, jerking herself away the closer he got, but the last straw for Joseph was when he saw her skin tear open against the rough iron, blood starting to bead in the scrapes. He couldn’t help but reach out with both hands, wanting to seize her shoulders, force her to stop… but caught himself at the last second in case he upset her further, or harmed her, or did something else wrong. Instead, he slowly reached around her head and made to untie the gag, careful not to touch her skin. She froze as he did so, angry eyes darting all over him. 

He took a single step backward, cloth hanging limp and useless in his hand, just silently accepting her never-ending glare. 

“Are you all right?” he asked, and there was a pitiful sadness in his voice that even he could hear. 

And Rook positively reeled, looking almost amused at his audacity underneath the rage. Her teeth bared into a snarl, and she leaned forward in the chair, her hands gripping the metal edge of the armrests, her eyes locked on his. 

She took a breath, and his heart stopped. 

“ _Fuck. You_.”

It felt like his soul snapped into place. There wasn’t any other way for Joseph to describe it—it was like a piece of himself had slotted back where it belonged, like his world had been slightly off without him really taking notice until things were made right once and for all. He felt this might actually be the only thing in the world that achieved the impossible classification of perfection, and Joseph felt so blessed that he would have prayed if he had the mind to. 

She was his now, as much as he had been hers this whole time. 

He heard Rook’s little gasp reverberating in his head through the thrum, and opened his eyes to find he had dropped the cloth and fallen to his knees before her, his hands grasping at her bound ones and his forehead pressed into her lap with happiness. He lifted his head to stare at her through teary eyes, at his partner for eternity hand-picked by God Himself, and she blinked at him with nary a trace of the Wrath she was so glad to fling at him just moments before. 

“I knew it was you,” he told her, shaking hands lifting up to cradle her face. “ _I was right_.”

The first slide of his fingers across her cheek was lovely, less of a frenzied pleasure desperate to be soothed and more of a gentle wave of joy sweeping over him and pulling him into the sea of her grace. 

“Oh,” tumbled from her mouth, a sweet, startled sound, and Joseph could have wept as she tilted her head into his grip in awe like she was finally realizing she was loved. 

That needed to be rectified, and so Joseph rose up and kissed her. 

Her lips were plush and soft and she tasted like bitter wine, and he adored it. He was gentle but bordered on desperate, one hand sliding up into the hair at the nape of her neck to coax her forward, and she arched down to meet him with one of those little moans that all but undid him. Even without the fire of a half-formed soul bond begging to be made whole, he was struck just as well, suddenly hard and wanting and wondering why the hell she wasn’t touching him. Her questing fingers brushed the arm of his shirt and clung on for dear life as though wondering the same thing. Joseph leaned a little closer in hopes of drowning in her, before realizing why exactly it was she couldn’t reach more than his sleeve—it was those stupid cuffs, useless hindrances they were, it would not do to keep them. Their lips made a little pop as they parted, eyes locked on each other’s mouths begging to meet again, chests heaving. His fingers wandered up of their own accord and started pulling at the cuffs uselessly, as though sheer willpower could unlock her limbs and leave him free to be held and caressed by her, but then his mind returned to him at last and he remembered every reason for why this was a bad idea. 

He had her soul, but he still needed her heart. 

Joseph sighed and shook his head, pulling away from Rook. “You aren’t ready for this. Not yet.” 

Rook made a good case for why he was wrong when she whimpered and pushed up against her cuffs to grab at his retreating hand before he could get far enough. He obliged hopefully, settling back down and allowing himself the liberty of twining his fingers with hers, thumb stroking ticklish circles over her palm. She blinked like she was shocked at her own boldness, glancing between him and his reverent grip on her hands like she wasn’t quite sure what to do anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” came out of his mouth before he could stop it, and Rook frowned at him. “I… You likely don’t remember, but I put you in danger the last time we met. I succumbed to the sin of Sloth and kept you with me too long in the Bliss. You could have died, if I—”

“That was real?” she exclaimed, and he blinked at the interruption. Her voice was a lot more delicate and lilting than he’d expected after hearing nothing but grunts and snarls… moans excluded. “You were really there?” 

“You remember,” Joseph said with awe. 

He watched with reverence and a slight smile as a furious blush raked over her freckled cheeks, lips pressing together with embarrassment, and for a second time he found himself thinking how charming she was in her bashfulness. At least, up until he remembered that he had gladly taken the liberty she offered to fondle her chest and let her grind herself on him like a sweet little harlot, and he ducked his head when he felt his own ears grow hot. 

“Both-both times?” she stammered, once they both felt ready to meet each other’s eyes again. 

He nodded, and a shadow passed over her face at his acknowledgement. He felt a twinge of fear and gripped her fingers tighter still, wondering if she was remembering why she hated him, questioning if he could withstand her Wrath another time or if it would end him on the spot, now that they were bound. 

“Was it a trick?” she asked in a low tone. 

Rook didn’t need to elaborate—he had already guessed she might think this way. Joseph blew out another sigh and shook his head, feeling the overwhelming urge to drop his head back down into her lap but resisting. 

“There has never been, nor would there ever be a day that I would want to draw you to me using lies and trickery,” Joseph promised solemnly, sealing the oath with a brief kiss to her fingertips. “What I showed you in the Bliss was my vision, _exactly_ as I saw it. I swear it to you.” 

She bit her lip and looked away at the intensity in his gaze, a frown tugging down her mouth again. All that was missing was the anger and it might have seemed like nothing had changed. 

“I don’t think you’re lying,” she mumbled, and Joseph would have allowed himself hope if not for the dejection on her face. “But the things you and your people have _done_ …”

He ducked his head away from her in shame, hearing the unsaid accusation in her voice. His men had chased and shot at her for months, and he’d let her almost die in his arms. His siblings tortured people into seeing the Path, and he had killed his daughter. While she saved people at the cost of harming herself, he harmed people for the benefit of saving his own. Was it truly all in the name of righteousness and salvation? 

And suddenly the answer hit him, as though God’s own hand had finally reached down and touched his mind once more. 

“I told you,” he breathed, once he came back to himself, “that I would one day prove myself worthy to be yours. I think… I know how.” 

She frowned at him as he stood up, opening her mouth to question him, but he silenced her with a soft kiss to the top of her hair. Her mouth shut with a click and she pressed her lips together again when he pulled away. 

“You won’t be held prisoner a moment longer,” he promised, allowing himself the liberty of cradling her face once again. “Be safe, my love.” 

He released her and turned away, only just catching the way her head snapped up at the term of endearment. She didn’t call after him, and he was glad, uncertain he had the willpower to refuse her should she beg him to stay. 

Jacob was standing to attention down the hallway, having pilfered a gun off of someone as though he expected Rook might somehow escape her bindings and attack Joseph. He was never one to underestimate a threat. Their eyes met, and Joseph had to resist the temptation to look away at the expectant expression on his brother’s face. The time for explanations would be later, once Joseph set on the Path to right his wrongs. 

“Give me your walkie,” Joseph ordered. 

Jacob obliged without an attempt to pry, following Joseph as he strode up the stairs with a far greater sense of purpose than he had coming down, raising the device with a surprisingly steady hand. 

“Faith.” 

“Yes, Father?” Faith exclaimed almost at once, breathless and relieved. 

“I need you to arrange a meeting with Sheriff Whitehorse.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If y'all thought it would take a while for Rook to tell of Joseph, you have misjudged her (and Jacob's) lack of patience ;) Thank you so much for the reception on the last chapter! I'm so glad you guys enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 Special thanks to Denmommy89, MrMcLemons x3, Littlewritingraven, Emily and LobeSic.
> 
> Quick note about the Biblical stuff. The writer of Revelation and the one who hears the prophecy is named in Revelation as John of Patmos. The majority of the Church has attributed him to the John of Jesus' Twelve Apostles, so I went with that for Joseph's interpretation. A small minority consider them separate people. Also neither of them are John the Baptist, because apparently you had like 6 names to choose from back then.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war ends.

Chapter 8

Earl Whitehorse had always been a reasonable man, Joseph knew. He had come to their defense on occasion before the Reaping, back when Joseph’s Flock was smaller and they had only just started arming themselves for the carnage to come, to the chagrin of the disgruntled, faithless residents who disliked their guns and their preachings. It was as much out of fear of disorder as it was out of respect. Whitehorse liked things simple and peaceful, and gun-toting Faithful shouting promises of the upcoming apocalypse and buying up half of the county’s land were best left alone. Even in the face of Joseph’s federal warrant, it had been Whitehorse encouraging the Prideful Marshal to step down and walk away despite a higher authority (or so they thought) hanging over their collective heads. 

It was no surprise to Joseph that when he reached out through Faith to arrange a personal meeting between Joseph and the Sheriff, Whitehorse accepted, despite the vocal protestations of his peers in the background. 

Ironically, it was his siblings who were the most resistant to the change. Faith only just barely hid her displeasure when Joseph requested she give them back the Marshal as a sign of good faith—especially considering the man fell to his knees and groped at her dress, begging not to leave with tears in his Bliss-white eyes—but she obliged nonetheless. It took Joseph leaning down and pressing his forehead to Burke’s, murmuring for him to have faith that all would be well, for the Marshal to let go and allow himself to be sent away. 

Meanwhile, Jacob and John both vehemently protested Joseph when he told them of his plans, but he shut them down at once. There was no more room for doubt—he knew what he had to do now. God had sent him the signpost long ago, and Joseph needed only to open his eyes and see it, to choose the right Path. Every step of the way, from the moment the Reaping began, Rook had pointed them in a different direction in her Wrathful manner. He dictated she should burn (a mistake he would regret for the rest of eternity), and she immediately escaped. His siblings pushed, and she pushed right back. Every move they made, she countered—and moreover, she won. It seemed so clear in hindsight. 

Joseph’s certainty didn’t stop Jacob from arming Joseph with his best Chosen. Several snipers and heavily armored men accompanied him with a barrage of trucks, nobody willing to risk the Father despite his willingness to risk himself. Joseph accepted with hidden displeasure—it would hardly do for an act of surrender to arrive with an entourage of the Project’s best warriors, but it made the tic in Jacob’s jaw lessen somewhat. 

Whitehorse was waiting outside of the Hope County Jail with an armed entourage of his own. Joseph recognized several faces—the mayor, a former friend of Faith’s in her past life, unnamed folk he’d seen but never spoken to throughout the years. They all glared at him as he stepped out of his truck, holding out his hands in surrender, but he didn’t blame them. He saw Rook in them all—she had the same glare, the fire behind her eyes sparking embers of defiance in theirs—and he smiled almost fondly at them when he noticed the parallel. The Marshal was hunched over and shivering, the only face in the crowd who was watching him with desperation rather than rage. He tried inching a little closer to Joseph, but someone’s hand shot out to grab the poor man and root him in place. 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” said Joseph with true gratitude. 

Whitehorse inclined his head, though his eyes were narrowed and his mouth a thin line that disappeared into his mustache. “Thank you for returning Burke to us. Not exactly in one piece, but it’s somethin’.” Joseph did not rise to the bait, certain in his purpose for the first time in months. “What is it you want, Seed? You should know by now we don’t surrender.” 

“I do not wish for your surrender. I wish for peace.” 

Shocked murmurs and disbelieving snorts and other undignified noises swept through the crowd behind Whitehorse. The other man just stood there with incredulity, his grip on his own gun slackening. 

“This is not a trick,” Joseph called over the din. “This is not a lie. There has been enough death on both sides, and I am to blame for it.” 

“Damn right you are!” someone shouted, and several more whooped, but Whitehorse silenced them with a glare and an angry wave of his hand. 

“I believed violence was necessary to save as many as we could from the Collapse, even those who did not believe in us,” Joseph continued, unperturbed. “I have come to realize I was wrong. There has been too much death on both sides for this to remain justifiable.” 

“It was _never_ justifiable,” Whitehorse snapped, raising the gun once more. 

Joseph raised his hands in deference again, allowing the tiniest piece of his shame to shine through. “Then won’t you help me end it? There need not be any more deaths, any more senseless violence. We can coexist separately— _peacefully_.”

He waited for Whitehorse to digest his suggestion, watching as a weary sigh heaved its way out of the older man. His shoulders drooped in a similar manner to Joseph’s own not long ago, two men burdened by chaos far bigger than they had a grip on. 

“Here is what I propose,” Joseph declaimed. “My Flock will pull back from Resistance-controlled areas such as Fall’s End in the Valley, or anywhere else we have not legally purchased. In return, the Resistance will leave my Flock alone. They will remain in our lands and our Gates without fear of attack, nor would your people have to fear the same.” Someone scoffed again, but he ignored it. “We will halt production of the Bliss, though we ask for our fields in the north to be left alone. Furthermore, we will no longer take unwilling non-believers to try and bring them to see the Path. Those we had in our custody were released this morning to the Whitetail Militia, including your other deputies. Any who come to us willingly in search of salvation will be welcomed as any other member of the Flock.” 

“Considering the last few months, Seed, I doubt you’ll be overwhelmed with new followers,” Whitehorse responded curtly, but he shifted in place. “What exactly brought this on?” 

Joseph took a long pause, swallowing hard at the memory of cradling Rook’s beautiful face in his unworthy hands, of soft skin trembling from the caress of his thumbs and plump lips giving way under the weight of his kisses. 

“I was… Prideful, to think God would want me to do evil in the name of saving a few more people from His hellfire,” he said slowly, and it wasn’t a lie. 

“That’s not all,” came someone’s call, and Joseph wouldn’t have given it a second thought if the source hadn’t been the Marshal. He stared at Joseph with wide eyes, still covered by a thin but fading film of white. “The Father embraced the Rookie in the Bliss. I saw it. Faith said she was God’s gift to him.” 

Joseph stared the Bliss-deprived Marshal down, punishing him with his gaze while trying not to show these strangers how hard his heart was pounding. He glanced at Whitehorse, who was frowning at the now shrinking Marshal with something like exasperation. 

“What about him?” Whitehorse said finally, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “You’ve practically melted his brain with that Bliss shit.” 

“He is free to choose, but I suspect you will dislike his choice,” said Joseph, calmer now that his (and hers, by extension) secret had not been realized. 

“Not much of a choice if you drug someone into complacency,” snarled Faith’s former friend, a woman in a blue hood, fingers flexing over her gun threateningly. 

“Where _is_ my Deputy?” Whitehorse butted back in with another annoyed hand wave. 

“My brother captured her several days ago,” Joseph admitted. “I had her released soon after. Wherever she is, she is not our prisoner.” 

Whitehorse looked sour at the response. Joseph could relate—he too despised not knowing where Rook was. She had disappeared like a breath on the wind the moment Jacob had her escorted out of the Gate, no sign of her on cameras or by word of mouth. He suspected (hoped) she was holed up in the Wolf’s Den again, away from danger, but if he knew his soulmate she was right in the middle of what would hopefully be the last moments of carnage. 

“She disappeared over a week ago,” the other man said, eyes narrowed. “Did any of yours have anything to do with that?” 

Joseph frowned down at his clasped hands, secretly caressing his soulmate’s words with his thumb. How was he supposed to explain without giving away their secret? She certainly hadn’t told Whitehorse by now, or else Joseph would have already been shot on the suspicion of outright kidnapping her. 

“She had followed Faith into the Bliss, but it… proved to be too much for her,” he said slowly, now addressing the ground. “I was… unwilling to risk her death, so I had Faith block her from re-entering the region.” 

Whitehorse looked flabbergasted, but the hooded woman elbowed him in the side and hissed, “I _told you_ she was sensitive to that shit.” 

“Let me get this straight,” the Sheriff said, pushing the woman behind him. “You’re telling me you wanted my Deputy _alive_? The one who’s been almost singlehandedly ruining your operations all over the county? That sure sounds like bullshit to me.” 

“Believe what you want,” Joseph said crossly, his patience wearing. “The Deputy is part of something bigger than you. She _will_ survive the Collapse and follow us into Eden’s Gate. It was always meant to be so.” 

“We don’t believe any of your Peggie doomsday crap,” the woman interrupted yet again. 

“What you _believe_ and what will come are not the same, child. There is still time for you to be saved, whether as part of my Flock or otherwise. The Collapse _will_ come, and I promise you will all still have a place with us in the Gates… if you can make it there in time.” Before more arguing could arise, Joseph turned his attention back to Whitehorse and asked him, “Do the terms I have outlined suffice?” 

“I’ll have to talk with the other Resistance members about it, but so far I don’t see anything impossible,” Whitehorse replied, and Joseph closed his eyes in relief just for a moment. “I don’t know about the others, Seed, but the Henbane will stop fighting… so long as you keep up your end, of course.” 

“Thank you. It will be done,” he said, and turned on his heels to depart. He paused before reaching the truck, and added, “Keep this in mind, Sheriff. Roo—the Deputy would be heartbroken if she lives through the Collapse, but finds the friends she’s been protecting for so long dead because of their own obstinance. The least you can do for her is take precautions, no matter how little you _believe_ in them.” 

Whitehorse blinked, but before anyone could question why Joseph would even bring such a thing up, he strode back towards the truck. His entourage was quiet, Jacob’s war-hungry Chosen looking somewhat surly at the lack of carnage, but Joseph ignored them and watched the countryside roll by as they made their way back home. He needed only to wait on the leaders of the Whitetails and Fall’s End (though the latter’s official leadership had always been lacking) to agree to his terms. 

Although, there was one other thing he needed to do. 

He met his brothers back on his island, John having been allowed out of the Gates now that the fighting was soon to stop. His two brothers frowned as they muttered to each other heatedly, while Faith stood to the side and watched with disapproval. A disproportionate amount of his and his brothers’ Flocks crowded the small compound, talking animatedly and exchanging questioning looks. He caught sight of Megan, now sporting an angry red ‘LUST’ circling like a collar around the base of her neck. She quickly ducked her head away from him when their eyes met. He resisted the urge to scowl in revulsion—she had Atoned, and thus earned the forgiveness of the Father. Joseph had no doubt her infraction would not be repeated, least of all after his announcement. 

“The Father is here,” someone exclaimed when he was finally spotted exiting the truck, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea for him with scattered whispers here and there, all eyes on him in a collective stare. Joseph waved off Jacob’s gunmen and strode through the makeshift pathway over to his brothers, who were now watching his approach, still donning matching frowns. 

“Are you sure about this?” Jacob mumbled for what had to be the tenth time, when Joseph stepped onto the podium. John stayed silent, hands clasped in front of him obediently, and Faith looked up at him with wide, imploring eyes. 

“Have faith,” Joseph reminded them. “I know the Path now. This needs to be done.” 

Finally, he turned away and addressed the sea of people. They instantly silenced themselves when his eyes fell upon them. 

“People of Eden’s Gate,” he began. “I must inform you of a decision I have made, on behalf of all of us. I have decided that Reaping will continue no longer.” 

Nobody glanced at each other. There were no murmurs, no questioning looks or shouts of outrage like at the jail. He felt a flare of pride (the good kind) as he looked at his obedient Flock, ever faithful in him, even despite his recent unexplained disappearance. 

“I have made a deal with the White Horse to end the violence,” he told them. “There will be no more fighting, on either side. The sinners will fall to the fires of Hell as God intended, and we will welcome those who come to us, should they so choose. No more will I succumb to Pride, believing I could save more than what God intended.” 

“I disagree,” came John’s booming voice, made for drama, from behind him, and that was what started the scattered murmurs. When Joseph turned to him in shock, John’s frown was replaced with a confident smile. “It was mercy, Father, to wish to save everyone. It was forgiveness, not Pride.” 

“Agreed,” said Jacob in his clipped way, arms crossed. 

“Praise be to the Father,” Faith chirped, clasping her hands to her chest. 

Joseph smiled, touched, as his Flock echoed the sentiment, cheering and clapping. He gave a nod of gratitude towards his siblings, knowing that despite their reservations, this was a show of unconditional support. He felt a brief twinge of guilt for having withdrawn from them, his Family, when he was grieving and half-mad with uncertainty, but pushed it aside. He had more work to do. 

“This does not mean,” Joseph continued, and once more silence fell, “that our work has to end. There _will_ be people who will choose to come to us as the Collapse draws nearer, and we must be ready to guide them into salvation. And there will be others who will continue to hate us, and we must be ready to defend ourselves just as well.” Jacob’s Chosen seemed to straighten a little at Joseph’s words, grips tightening on their guns. “Until the day of judgement comes, we will be at peace. No more deaths in the name of our cause. No more sacrifices.” 

He saw several people turn to each other for comfort, or dab at their eyes, and his heart clenched. How many husbands and wives, siblings or parents, had been killed in the name of Joseph’s Reaping? How many people had his mistakes cost, how many people left widowed or orphaned? 

“Many of you may wonder why,” Joseph said quietly, stepping down off the podium. “Why have I chosen to take a different Path? Why now?” 

He reached out and touched the shoulders of nearby Faithful—Levi, Jamie, one of John’s Chosen, everyone—wanting to share his joy through the contact. They stared with reverence back at his warm gaze, some chancing a graze of their own hand over his shoulder. 

“I wish to share with you, my Family, that I have found my soulmate,” Joseph announced with absolute triumph. 

He pulled off his rosary and raised his bare palm into the air like a victory flag, and his Flock shared his happiness through what could only be described as an absolute uproar of praise, cheers, shouted delight and tearful congratulations so loud they made the air itself tremble. Hands from all directions patted, squeezed and caressed him, their eyes all zeroed in on his soul mark which he knew undoubtedly was too small to read for anyone except the frontmost, though if any managed to catch what it said, none so much as stopped smiling. He turned, beaming, to find his siblings watching, Faith halfway to sobbing while Jacob and John just grinned back at their brother’s joy. 

If only Rook were here to see this, see the love and mercy and faith that was full to overflowing within his Flock. She would see soon, he hoped. 

“She has shown me there is another way for us to save people, to save ourselves! And with her guidance, I will make this world safe,” Joseph said over the din, his hand still in the air. “For all of us. For your soulmates, for mine, and for our Family. And when the Collapse comes, we will be safe in the next world as well… We will be safe in Eden’s Gate!” 

***

It wasn’t even two days later when Joseph received his answer from Whitehorse, that there would indeed be peace in the county. 

The Whitetails had agreed to the peace on the condition that Jacob’s men and all other Project members remain in the bunker or at the Veteran’s Centre alone, rather than on their legally owned land. Joseph willingly compromised on this, as Jacob’s Gate was one of the largest and most of his men (and animals) were fully conditioned soldiers who did not need the excess space, though Jacob demanded use of the north woods for hunting. 

The Henbane had already begun to surrender, with some minor expected skirmishes—although it seemed Whitehorse’s orders were as influential as Joseph’s, as they soon died out the more the Resistance and Project separated. The Bliss fields in the north remained untouched and in production as promised, with the added demand from Whitehorse that Faith "clean up her goddamn zombies" before they could be provoked (accidentally or otherwise) into harming people. Faith obliged and sent her Flock to scour the plains for wayward Angels before any Resistance members could use them as an excuse to restart the fighting. As with Jacob's men, there were undoubtedly some wayward souls consumed by their Wrath and Greed, selfishly desperate for more bloodshed. 

The Resistance in Holland Valley had little choice but to agree, having been losing the war every day they weren’t able to hide behind Rook’s impossible might to fight it for them. Pastor Jeffries had taken up the mantle as de facto leader in her absence, and agreed to Joseph’s terms without complaint, though he (like many others) warned that if Eden’s Gate “stepped out of line” the peace would end. Joseph trusted his Flock to obey, and trusted the now-defunct Resistance as well, but only after he found out his suspicions were true—John’s Gate had remained untouched, their followers unharmed so long as they remained within the perimeter, on the orders of his soulmate. On the other end of the radio, Jeffries had all but bragged about Rook's mercy in the face of the Project's defeat (unearned, the man had left implied) unaware that Joseph basked in the knowledge. It was yet another sign that Joseph had made the right decision, and he fell just a little more in love with her. 

John was allowed back into the Valley now that Joseph knew the peace he’d brokered would protect him. His brother beelined for his now-abandoned ranch, snarling about stolen Armani shirts and beer bottles littering his lawn and, “who set my hangar on _fire_?” Once the shock of that had calmed, John had gone through with Joseph’s orders and then some. No more would his Flock snatch unsuspecting sinners in their wanderings to be Cleansed and kept safe in the bunker—they were left entirely alone, left to keep wandering without aim until the day God would judge them. John was suspiciously pleased by this, and Joseph was no fool as to why. John had never been able to bring himself to love any of them, and it seemed he was content with letting God cleanse them with hellfire rather than stain his own hands cleansing them with river water. 

There were some, as expected, who set aside their Pride and sought him out themselves—very few, perhaps less than what may have come before the war, but the fault lay with Joseph there—and John opened his arms to them as best he could… thankfully with much less flaying, for which Joseph was grateful. There was a slight concern the vocally-enraged Joey Hudson, Rook’s colleague, might stage her own one-woman siege against the ranch in the same vein as Rook herself, but Pastor Jerome seemed to keep her in line. 

Faith was the one who settled best into her new role, for though she was distraught at the loss of his statue which she worked so diligently on, she was glad not to have to struggle anymore. His Faith was resilient—he would not have chosen her otherwise—but there had always been a need to _force_ sinners to see the truth by way of the Bliss, where now there was no need. Peace was always her way, hence why she was granted control over the Bliss productions—it was her very nature. Her Flock remained safe in the Gate and the Resistance could go where they pleased, provided they stayed in their own territory… with the exception of the Marshal, who strode right back into her arms clear-headed and in awe. 

“You were right,” he had told her, as Faith relayed. “ _He_ was right. They let me go. There is peace.” 

And then he asked to be taken home, and Faith did so. 

Jacob was the least pleased by the change in direction, for he was a soldier with an army but no war to fight anymore. Having accepted the Whitetail militia’s terms for peace, Jacob and his men retreated to the Gate and the Veteran’s Centre almost in hermitage, if not for Jacob taking up the opportunity to drill his standby soldiers each day to “keep them from going soft before they reach the next world,” running the place like his own army boot camp. He kept watch on the militia through his cameras in case they overstepped and decided revenge was worth more than peace, but the Whitetails seemed to be the other side of Jacob’s coin. They too kept themselves holed up in their bunker or scouted around often to make sure Jacob was keeping his end of the bargain. Jacob’s own captive deputy, unlike the Marshal, chose to stay with the Whitetails, though it wasn’t so much a choice as it was the battered man declaring they were “weak” in the face of Rook’s justice, apparently unaware she wasn’t the ringleader behind it (not directly at least). Jacob said little about it beyond a scoffed, “Fuckin’ idiot.” 

For the most part, things worked. His Flock was happier, the air in the county calmer. A week passed, and there were next to no more bodies littering the streets, no more blood flowing, no more gunfire crackling through the air at all hours of the day. Supplies continued to be gathered for the Gates to sustain them through to the Collapse, and Joseph was pleased to see Whitehorse doing the same at a much smaller level. He hoped this was upon his advice, though it may have just been restocking the jail, which was now acting as an unofficial shelter for those whose homes had been ransacked during the war. The other man’s eyes narrowed when Joseph’s entourage drove by, but gave a curt nod in a strained gesture of politeness as he hauled a crate of canned foods off the bed of a truck. And this was the kind of peace that had settled, a reluctant tolerance of each other for the sake of preventing more suffering. 

But there was no word of Rook. 

It was easy during the fighting for the wild woman to disappear for weeks at a time, everyone on both sides too focused on fighting, defending and surviving to pay attention to where one rogue deputy was at any given moment. Yet Rook stayed silent and unseen. She was not caught on Jacob’s cameras, nor was she spotted by the patchwork quilt of Project-occupied lands in the Valley. Faith, who had been out helping to gather her remaining Angels from the wilderness personally, admitted neither she nor her Chosen had seen any sign of Rook. His Flock was starting to get confused with each passing day that Joseph did not bring home his soulmate—surely the Father, who brokered this peace for her sake, would be with her always now that the war was over? 

This was all it took for Joseph to slip back into doubt. Not regarding his purpose—for the first time in months, he was firm in his certainty that God had finally spoken to him through her—but for her safety. Even though he knew the majority of the fighting had stopped, he couldn’t help but dream up the worst explanations for why Rook wouldn’t be seen by Project or former Resistance members alike. Either she was trapped against her will somewhere, or she was deliberately hiding from him. As much as he preferred the latter option, it still broke his heart a little. Of course, there was also the option that she was dead, but something in him was certain this wasn’t the case. If half his soul died, surely he would have felt it? His certainty didn’t stop the twinge of panic that sparked in his chest, made him want to buckle over to catch a breath he had not run out of. 

“She’s around, Joe,” Jacob assured him gruffly over the radio. “Either we’ll find her or the Resist—her _friends_ will. She can’t hide for long.” 

Joseph only wished to know she was safe. Before Rook had spoken his mark aloud in Jacob’s Gate, it was much harder to assure himself she wasn’t gravely injured or dead if he didn’t know exactly where she was, but now all he wanted was to make sure she was well and taken care of, wrap her in warmth and shower her with love. He could stop the war, but he couldn’t change the land. She would come to him when she was ready, but only if she was physically capable of doing so. 

“Keep her safe,” he begged God every night, because it had worked so far. “I can wait for her to be mine, but please, keep her safe where I cannot.” 

This was what he was doing when his radio crackled to life. 

“ _Joseph_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy holidays, here's peace, love, and a cliffhanger <3 We got one left to go! 
> 
> Special thanks to Littlewritingraven, CuteVyper, Danimals, MrMcLemons, LobeSic, Fiery_Succubus and evocativecomma.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook confronts Joseph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: teh sex

Chapter 9

She said his name.

It was clipped, grainy from the hiss of the radio, but she said it. He was enraptured, staring at the faint outline of the walkie in the dim candlelight like it held the secrets of the universe. Maybe it did. 

He never heard her say it before. Not that he heard more than three or four sentences and a fiery, soul-searing insult come from her mouth, but—

“Joseph?” she said again, a question now, and Joseph realized that he should probably stop gawking and answer her. 

He scrambled up from the floor abruptly, hissing when his knee collided with the altar and nearly knocked over the candles. He snatched up his radio and cradled it close, frowning when he caught a slight tremble in his hands. A million reasons Rook could have decided to contact him now flew through his mind—she was hurt somewhere and needed help, she wanted to remind him she hated him, she was fleeing the county and never wanted to see him again (unlikely, since he doubted she’d contact him for that), she wanted to profess her undying love (even less likely), she wanted answers for why he suddenly ended the war. He decided that last one must be the case and settled down a little. 

Joseph’s thumb pressed down on the button and he took a breath, but nothing came out. Should he say her name? Did he have that right yet? Or would she question how he knew it to begin with? 

“Deputy,” he said instead, quietly, calmly, entirely contrary to the absolute panic making his blood pulse through him at mach speed. “What-what can I do for you?” 

Damn it, why did he stutter? She was going to think him a coward. Although that was probably low on the list of terrible things she thought of him. 

“I need you to meet me somewhere,” Rook said curtly after a moment. “Cooper Cabin, in the Whitetail Mountains. Just southwest of the Park Ranger Station.” 

“I know it,” Joseph breathed. 

She wanted to see him. 

“Alone,” she snapped. A dog barked in the background, but she hushed it. “None of your Peggie guards. If I find anyone sneaking around, I’m gone.” 

“Yes, I’ll—yes.” 

She wanted to _see_ him! 

She didn’t sound hurt, so this wasn’t a call for rescue (not that he’d likely be her first call) so this must either be a questioning… or a stalemate. He pressed the walkie to his mouth so hard the plastic creaked, trying to bite back a hopeful smile. He jumped to his feet, pocketing the radio and power-walking out of the cabin, unwilling to keep her waiting. The night was humid enough that any thoughts of stopping to grab a jacket (or a shirt) were far from his mind, and if any of his Flock noticed the Father sneaking over to one of their trucks, there weren’t any protests that Joseph lingered long enough to hear. 

At first he gave into the urge to speed, the gas pedal practically slammed onto the floor, but he had to swerve to avoid a herd of pronghorns in the road by the old general store and decided it would be a better idea not to kill himself before he reached her. He reluctantly braked, muttering under his breath a quiet prayer for strength, and felt up the outline of the walkie in his pocket when that wasn’t enough. She would wait, he reassured himself—for whatever reason, she wanted to see him. This wasn’t like all the other times, where he had to rush to her side before she slipped through his fingers again. This time it was an invitation. 

He turned onto the side road sharp enough to make his neck ache a little, the tiny ember of hope in his gut warming further with the thought, even with the knowledge that this could (and likely would, with his track record) go very wrong. He slammed onto the brakes when he spotted an ATV parked at the tree line, along a dirt path he knew led to a cluster of cabins on the lake. He let out another noise when he accidentally clipped his head against the roof of the truck trying to throw himself out. He had to get it together before he made her think he was an uncoordinated idiot, Joseph thought with a scowl as he massaged his head. 

This time, he was cautious as he maneuvered his way in the dark over the rocky ground. The moonlight barely shone enough through the trees for Joseph to find his way, the trail just pale enough to see which direction to go in. He cursed himself in his mind for not thinking to bring a flashlight in his haste, feeling decidedly stupid and hoping she wasn’t watching as he did his best to avoid errant tree roots. His hands came up to rub at his face, chuckling to himself underneath the screech of crickets and the low bleat of frogs. If his siblings knew what he was doing… John would probably want to flay him later, especially considering how long Joseph ordered him to be kept safe in the Gate. Jacob would probably shout about survival mistakes, like the fact that Joseph didn’t bring so much as a knife with him. 

A flash of crimson light caught his eye, and he whipped around as a cabin loomed into view. He frowned when he found no porch light, and the windows were boarded up with wood paneling, so they could not be the source. He looked down, and froze when he found a red dot centered precisely in the middle of his chest. 

A bizarre numbness settled over him. His head rose slowly to find his soulmate standing like a sentinel on top of the rocky hillside, a sniper rifle almost half her size perched on her shoulder and her eye behind the scope. The moonlight created a pale blue-white aura that outlined her lithe frame like a spirit, and despite likely being seconds from death Joseph couldn’t help but marvel a little at the ethereal sight. He swallowed and shut his eyes, bracing for his Deputy’s vengeance to tear a hole right between his lungs, but he opened them again when he heard a click and the rustling of metal against fabric. Rook now had her rifle propped on her shoulder and a scowl on her face, and the tension melted from his shoulders when he realized this would not be the moment of his death. 

“You came alone?” she said in a clipped tone. 

Joseph nodded, watching her look him over and pretending he wasn’t doing the same. Her nose was wrinkled in disapproval, but he was more preoccupied by the marveling at the silvery halo the moonlight cast on her hair and feeling jealous of the holsters hugging her thighs like a lover. 

“You trusted me enough to actually come alone?” 

“Nobody even knows I left,” Joseph assured her, but if anything that made her look even more bemused. 

“And it never occurred to you that I might not do the same?” 

He blinked when he realized a Rook-led Resistance ambush was, in fact, the furthest thing from his mind. She caught the expression and frowned, her hip cocking to the side as her posture shifted into an exasperated contrapposto. 

“Are you even armed?” she exclaimed, and he just stared. She shook her head and muttered, “Jesus Christ, how the hell did you even survive this long…?”

“Uhh…” was Joseph’s surprisingly inarticulate response for someone so used to preaching his word, as she turned away and stomped down the rocky hillside towards the porch. 

“Come on,” Rook said brusquely, gesturing him over with the end of her gun, of all things. 

He hastened to obey, glad the darkness of the night hid the warmth spreading over his cheeks, surprised at his own foolishness. She pushed the door open with her boot, bullet holes riddling the already chipped white paint, revealing a dim orange glow coming from a scattering of oil lamps laid out on the floor. There were dark stains on the floor that suggested someone had bled out here, but the blood had been scrubbed away. A green plaid couch had been pulled up to a small wood-burning fireplace, Rook’s scruffy dog curled up on top of it. The dog lifted his head off his paws and whuffed in greeting at Rook, giving Joseph little more than a curious head tilt before settling back down. 

He lingered in the doorway, wondering if this was where she had set herself up for the last week, taking in the set up as Rook dumped her many ( _many_ ) arms into an already-formed pile of weapons. He huffed out a laugh at the sight—leave it to his warrior to keep an emergency stockpile of enough guns to wreck a small army—but he bit it back when she shot him a sharp look as she shimmied the rifle’s strap over her head. 

Joseph’s attention turned instead to drinking in the sight of her again, pleased to find her much less gaunt than before, like she’d had a few solid weeks of good meals. Her hair was left to hang wild over her shoulders instead of being slapped back into a practical bun or a braid. It was so long now, he noticed, the firelit ends dancing around her hips where it had hung neatly at her shoulders in his church. Her clothes seemed in poorer condition—the apparently well-loved bomber jacket was covered in little nicks and slices (better it than her, he thought). The knife wound on her throat was little more than a shiny pink scar that stretched whenever she arched her neck, and his sinful mind was immediately thrown back into the Bliss, where he’d had the privilege of tonguing at the mark. He looked away quickly, ashamed of thinking in such a manner when she had graced him with this olive branch. 

“Is this where you’ve been?” Joseph allowed himself to ask, taking one step into her space. 

The dog lifted its head again and stared him down, but didn’t do much beyond that, apparently mulling over whether or not he was a threat. Rook, on the other hand, shucked off her bomber jacket and tossed it carelessly into the corner, revealing bare, well-toned arms with far, far too many scars over them, and twice as many freckles. She turned back around to face him and crossed her arms. 

“You been having me followed or something?” she asked coolly, leaning her weight against a kitchen counter laden with ammunition. “Not that it’s a stretch, for how many times you’ve already had me kidnapped.” 

“I’ve been waiting for news,” Joseph admitted, glancing down at his clasped hands in deference. “You are usually… very vocal.” 

“Vocal,” she snorted with an eye roll, and he shifted uncomfortably. 

God protect him, this was painfully awkward. How exactly was he supposed to sidestep the fact that she was probably responsible for slaughtering half his Flock… or the fact that he started the war to begin with? Had he ruined any chance of earning her love the moment he declared the Reaping and left her to die in that helicopter? 

“How are your wrists?” he asked instead. 

For the first time, Rook didn’t glare at him. Instead she shuffled in place and rubbed at the skin of her wrists, the floor suddenly of great interest to her. The curtain of her hair hid her face from him. 

“What are you playing at?” she asked quietly, not with accusation. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. He had the answer—she was his soulmate, he worried about her wellbeing, he had enough regrets about his treatment of her (direct or otherwise) to fill every square inch of space in his bunker, he probably loved her more than he loved God and was undoubtedly going to Hell for that—but he had the feeling none of those answers would sit well with her. 

“There are no games, Rook,” he said instead, taking off his aviators to rub at his face again. “Not with you.” 

“Really?” she scoffed, and he flinched under his fingers at her harsh tone. “What exactly am I supposed to think when I’m chained to a chair one second and then coming out to find the war over the next?” 

She was angry with him about _that_? He did it for her! 

“Would you prefer it if we were still slaughtering each other?” Joseph asked, a little sharply. 

“No, I—of course not!” Rook exclaimed, blinking like she was shocked at his impatience, and he felt the slightest bit guilty. “I just… don’t get it. You were always so _sure_.”

His mind flashed back to that first night—an angry Flock, a soul mark uttered with confidence as he held out his wrists for her judgement, “ _no one is coming to save you_ …”—and he huffed again. He _was_ sure, and then she came. 

“I was mistaken,” Joseph admitted, hanging his head. 

“And I’m supposed to believe you figured that out, just out of the blue?” Rook snapped—back to anger, it seemed. “It’s been _months_ , Joseph, since your fucked-up Reaping started, and now you just suddenly decide to do a complete one-eighty and leave everyone alone, turn your psycho siblings into a facade of halfway decent people? Did your God just randomly decide to come down and smack some fucking sense into you? Do you know half the shit your little _mistake_ has cost?” 

He ignored the blasphemy and closed his eyes against her verbal lashing, wondering if it was possible to hear his own heart breaking. He deserved this. 

“...Jacob fucking starving people and turning them into goddamn sleeper agents, Faith making literal _zombies_ with that Bliss shit… And what the fuck even is John? Skinning people and hanging them from _meat hooks_ , never mind the dead crows nailed to that fucking church…” What? “Did you know about that, or were you busy ordering your crazy family to kidnap me?” 

“I did not,” Joseph whispered, addressing the floor. “I… This war grew too great to remain in my control.” 

“Real convenient that your god didn’t tell you about that,” Rook snarked, and the jab hit him harder than she probably meant it to—how could she know Joseph had been bereft of His voice despite his deepest prayers? 

“You are right, Rook, it’s my fault,” he breathed around the lump in his throat. “I spent so many years thinking I was doing the right thing, but then it all went wrong. God tried to show me, and I ignored Him until I couldn’t anymore. I thought you were Hell, but you were my sign.” 

“Oh for _fuck’s_ sake—can you just talk like a normal fucking person, please?” she snarled. 

“Don’t you _see_ , Rook?” Joseph exclaimed, the words coming out almost as a growl. “I had everything planned, and then He sent _you_. You were supposed to be nothing more than the thorn in our side, the Hell sent to raze our corner of the world until He returned to bring us into a new Eden. But then you were my _soulmate_ , and none of it made sense anymore. How could you be our destroyer and a piece of my soul at the same time? It didn’t make _sense_.” 

He clutched at his chest when it became hard to breathe, and he took a stumbling step towards Rook as if unconsciously begging her to resolve it. She looked uncertain but didn’t back away, a pink tinge blossoming in her cheeks and her shoulders tightening with his proximity. 

“And-and then every time I got close to you, I hurt you,” he hissed. “It didn’t matter what I did, how careful I was—something always went wrong, and it was always my fault.” 

He felt his shoulders hunch inward a little as everything just felt too much to hold upright anymore. His kneecaps blossomed with pain as he found himself dropping to his knees before her, aviators falling with a clatter onto the floor, reaching out with desperate deference to grasp at the hem of her shirt as his head fell to rest once again on the warm pillow of her thigh. 

“Oh,” she said in shock, just like last time, but he wasn’t finished. 

“Forgive me, Rook. You thought me a monster, and then you spoke my words and I realized you were right—you were _right_. You ruined our work, just like you were supposed to, but it was because it was _wrong_! It was me—I was the destroyer, not you. The false prophet, the man of sin…”

“Um,” was Rook’s uncertain reply, but she seemed to pull herself together enough to say, with an edge of hesitant sarcasm, “Pretty sure Revelations isn’t supposed to be taken _that_ literally, Joseph. You’re not the Antichrist.” 

“Perhaps not, but I _am_ a monster,” Joseph answered wearily, the bloodstained floorboards swimming as tears finally started to sting his eyes. “I almost let you burn in that helicopter, because I couldn’t believe you could be my soulmate, and I would have never known your splendor. I nearly killed you again in the Bliss. I killed my daughter, Rook. She wasn’t supposed to live, but I was the one who did it. My baby girl,” he croaked, a broken sob following his words, and he pressed himself a little closer hoping whatever made Rook sanctimoniously good would spill over to him and fill the gaping hole in his chest. He heard her make a sad little ‘ _oh_ ’, but before she could break him further with her pity he continued, “I started this war, hoping to force some extra souls into being saved whether or not they wanted saving, but it cost more than it would have been worth. And you were the signpost telling me to turn back that I ignored over and over again, until I couldn’t. Even when I saw you beaten and bruised, fighting us, I kept it going.” 

“But you didn’t,” Rook said, and despite how quiet the statement was it tore through him like a bullet. She bit her lip and turned away from his questioning gaze when he lifted his teary face to stare up at her, but added on a stammer, “You-you said so. In the Bliss. You said you weren’t certain anymore, and that you wanted to stop the war.” 

“I haven’t been certain of anything since I first saw you in my church,” Joseph confessed, bowing his head in deference to her again. “What do I do, Rook? Tell me, before I do something else wrong.” 

“You did it already,” she said, a tinge of weariness in her voice, and he would have looked up again if not for the leather-covered fingers that swept lightly into his hair, so instead he just _melted_ in the wake of her little gesture of comfort. “The war’s over. No one has to die anymore.” 

The statement broke his heart all over again. 

“They’ll all die, Rook. The Collapse _will_ come. This was the last thing God showed me directly. This is the one thing that is wholly unquestionable.” 

“Joseph,” she answered in exasperation, but sighed. “Let’s say you’re right and the president gets us nuked, or whatever. You’re all just going to hole yourself up in bunkers for fuck knows how long, and then what? Try and-and build a new life in the barren, radioactive hellscape?” 

“Seven years, we will wait, and then we will emerge into a new Eden,” Joseph said on his own sigh, wishing he had shown her that part of his vision when they were in the Bliss. “It will be a bountiful garden, a place of peace. I need only for people to live long enough to see it.” 

She made a sound, almost like an amused little huff like she couldn’t quite believe it, and this time he did give in and look up. He found her staring at him with furrowed brows, a questioning gaze, and a quirked-up corner of her mouth in the ghost of a smile that she was trying to bite back, and _oh_ , he never saw her smile at _him_ before, and it was beautiful. 

“You’re not at all like I thought,” Rook said, and the cold pit of grief was warmed by a tiny ember of hope flickering to life. 

Oh, this precious, wonderful woman. He let go of his grip on her shirt and took her gloved hands instead, cradling one with his rosary-covered palm and pulling the other up so he could press his mouth to it in a reverent kiss—and reverence it was, because she was too good to really be his, and God permitting, he wanted to worship at her altar. 

“That you can see any good left in me is itself a miracle,” he murmured, nuzzling his cheek into the leather. “Can you ever forgive me for what I’ve done, Rook?” 

“Um,” was once again her answer, and he opened his eyes again to find her blushing furiously. “Yes? Yeah, I—I guess.” Joseph relaxed again in pure relief, feeling the last of his grief leak out of him like sins being washed away, only just catching the end of, “…fuck me, you do everything cranked up to eleven, huh?” 

He chuckled, his breath blowing in a warm rush over her knuckles. “I suppose I do.” 

They fell silent—or rather she did, as Joseph distracted himself with wondering if he was permitted to take off her gloves, wanting to press his lips to skin instead of leather. Was that a line he was able to cross yet? He blinked when he noticed her staring down at him, her face pulled back down into an uncertain frown he’d seen her wear for far too long, and Joseph pulled his face away from her hand, worrying he had indeed overstepped his boundaries. 

“Is your soul mark really ‘fuck you’?” was Rook’s question instead, stated so bluntly that Joseph was caught off guard and laughed before he could think to stop it. 

Biting it back into a smile, he let go of her and pulled the clinging beads off of his hand, letting them fall to the floor in a clatter of wood on wood. He presented his palm to her, watching with amusement as she echoed his laugh, reaching out to prod the mark with her leather-covered fingertips in disbelief. 

“Wow,” Rook exclaimed, coaxing another laugh out of him. “That’s just unfortunate.” 

He disagreed—nothing that embodied her was unfortunate—but let her caress his hand without complaint. He wanted to see hers as well, never having managed to catch even a glimpse of it after all this time, but hesitated once more as he wondered if he was entitled to do so. Whatever mutual ground they had just established felt like it was made of glass; one wrong step and he’d crack it, just like he had before. Rook sent him a questioning look when he began to frown, and he decided to risk it, if only because he was selfish. 

“Can I,” he began, but had to swallow, “can I see yours?” 

Rook did not get angry with him, which was good. Instead, to his surprise, a furious blush darkened her face to the point where her freckles disappeared, and her gaze immediately snapped to the ground. 

“Uh, it-it’s not exactly visible without taking off my pants,” she stammered, squirming in place. 

Joseph short-circuited, blood immediately rushing south when he realized what exactly that meant. His eyes grew wide and his ears hot as his helpful imagination conjured up a thousand images for where his words might be etched—curving around her thigh, snaking up towards her hip, cradling the swell of her ass—hidden from his prying eyes by denim and propriety, the stupid idea that was, who even invented it anyway? 

“…oh, fuck me,” he heard Rook curse, and his sinful mind immediately thought ‘well, if you insist’ before he could stop it. “I didn’t mean—that’s not—I mean, I wasn’t… _ugh_ ,” tumbled in frustration out of her mouth, one hand flying up to tug at her own hair. 

If Joseph had enough sense to be conscious of anything but her and his own feverish haze, he might have realized he was staring up at her like he embodied Lust, his breath rattling out a little heavier than normal and his marked hand still cradling hers with a slight tremble. As such, he only noticed when Rook herself glanced down at him and froze, her upset expression softening into something not unlike their time in the Bliss, and _fuck_ if that didn’t make his blood boil even hotter. 

“Fuck it,” Rook hissed out finally, and Joseph would later remark that he wouldn’t mind that being his soul mark either, mostly because of what followed. 

The breath was knocked out of him as Rook hurled herself forward and pushed him backwards onto the floor, her mouth sealing over his before he could think to take another breath, and if his death was to be by suffocating under Rook’s soft lips, he would do so gladly. He moaned when his little soulmate molded herself on top of him as if trying to close any possible space between them, shoving her hands into his hair and angling his head like she wanted, their bond pulsing in a pleasant throb as her blunt nails trailed over his scalp. Any thoughts of boundaries or reasons to hesitate utterly fled him, and Joseph happily let his hands push their way up the back of her shirt to grope at her bare skin, his blood thrumming at the contact. 

Rook pulled her mouth away and he whined in protest, but she didn’t leave him bereft for long. Instead, while she busied herself with tearing off her gloves (with her teeth again, he noticed with delight, the savage thing) she shifted her weight off her knees and ground her thigh against his inseam, and Joseph immediately learned what it felt like to fly. The back of his head collided with the floorboards and he cried out unabashedly, his hands scrambling off her back to seize her waist and press her down harder, hips rising up to meet her as eagerly as in the Bliss. She made a broken little sound before her mouth slammed back down onto his, her tongue curling over his in a sloppy dance—was that his fault, it had been years, _years_ since he’d been with anyone, the last had been his wife—and it took him a moment to realize she was now dragging her hand down his bare chest towards where their hips were connected, and Joseph slammed his head back down at where this was surely headed. This wasn’t Rook high on Bliss and their unfulfilled bond. This was sober agency. This was Rook _wanting_ him. 

She started fumbling with the cross-shaped buckle, still biting at his lips hungrily, and Joseph took the liberty of reenacting their time in the Bliss by sliding his hands up her tank top over her skin, littered with small bumps and smooth scars that he was determined to find out the stories of later, and slipped one hand under her bra like he knew she wanted. His palm curled around warm, soft flesh with reverence, and Rook mewled again and pushed her breast closer into his hand with a little wriggle that had the added benefit of grinding down into his erection again. It was unsatisfying this time—he wanted to feel his skin sliding along hers, untempered by rough denim and other offending fabrics, so he made a desperate noise that wasn’t totally voluntary and tugged impatiently at her tank top with his free hand. She huffed out a chuckle and obliged, pulling both her mouth and hand away (why did he want that again?) before gripping the hem of her shirt with both hands and pulling it over her head (oh that’s why), wisps of hair settling down to cling to her obscenely wet lips. He watched in awe as she unclasped her raggedy black bra without moving his hand, the material falling away to reveal his fingers cradling the swell of her, and what a lovely sight that was. ‘WRATH’ shouted at him along the arch of her collarbone, and he felt a pang of regret at the sight of such a lovely pale canvas marred by the inky scrawl, like his brother had graffitied an angel’s wing. 

“Is this how you dreamt about me?” came Rook’s husky siren call through the fog, and he blinked up at her. 

“Huh?” was his eloquent response, followed by an equally elegant cry of, “ _Ah_!” when she rocked her hips again. 

“In the Bliss,” Rook hummed, a drop of sweat tracing a path down her neck and into the dip of her throat, Joseph’s eyes following the whole while. “You said you dream about me, and asked if I do too.” His face burned at the remembrance of his own Bliss-addled confession (wasn’t she half-asleep then?) but the rest of him practically caught fire when she mirrored his blush and said quietly, “I do, Joseph. Couldn’t stop it.” 

Even if Rook decided she never wanted anything to do with him after this night, Joseph decided he was going to die a happy man just from knowing he wasn’t the only one tormented at night by his other half. She gasped out when Joseph rewarded her for the wonderful revelation with a jerk of his hips and a pinch to her nipple with his thumb and forefinger. 

“What did you dream about?” he asked on an exhale, shocked at his own boldness, but that might have had something to do with the gorgeous half-naked woman writhing on top of him. 

“You touching me,” was Rook’s simple but soul-searing reply, her fingers back to tugging at his belt buckle with much less patience than before. “Why did you think I was such a lech when I was high on that Bliss shit? Wanted your fingers on me. Wanted them _everywhere_.” 

He huffed out a laugh, his free hand taking the liberty to start playing with the hem of her jeans as he confessed, “You set me on fucking _fire_ when you first touched me at my church, Rook.” Her mouth parted into a little ‘o’ at the drop of the curse word, but he wasn’t done. “Couldn’t stop thinking about it when I realized why, even before that. That was just the first night I dreamed about you. _Oh_ ,” he breathed when she finally managed to yank open his belt and unzip his jeans, fingers dipping inside. 

“Did you touch yourself after?” his Rook whispered with absolutely no shame. 

“ _Yes_!” Joseph cried when she gripped him under his jeans, kicking his head back at the sweet agony. 

They devolved after that into desperate movements, Joseph a writhing mess under her touch with the barest forethought to begin tugging at her jeans, Rook looking amused for the split second up until Joseph latched his mouth around that spot on her neck—the one from before in the Bliss that she seemed to like so much, he remembered, he’d never forget. Her grip around his cock went slack, which was good because he was afraid he might actually come just from the gentle touches, and this needed to last longer than that. He lifted her up off him for a soul-shattering moment when he managed to get her jeans undone, pulling them down her thighs with an impatient tug along with her boots. She had less scars there, her thighs a creamy white expanse of nearly unblemished skin save for the occasional nick and a nasty hole-shaped scar undoubtedly left by his eldest brother’s hunters, the black panties stark against the paleness of her. 

She sent him a coy look that he took as unnecessary—she already had him utterly wrapped up in her, why bother, not that it wasn’t appreciated—but when she took his soul-marked hand and drew it up her left thigh, knees parted slightly to allow it, he realized why. 

_God will not let you take me_ curled its way high up her inner thigh like the purest irony. Such a sinful place to have such righteous words, especially considering how Joseph was prepared to see them. He then decided that they were wrong—not even God could stop him from taking her—and before he could question how blasphemous such a thought was, he coaxed her mostly nude frame forward with a gentle push on her pert little ass and licked a wet line up the mark. 

“Oh-holy-Jesus- _fuck_ ,” she stuttered out like the heathen she was, eyes falling shut as his mouth crept higher, crying out an extra, “ _Oh God_ ,” when he pushed aside her panties and finally pushed his tongue between her folds, and _fuck_ she was already so wet. 

Joseph tugged her forward still until she was practically sitting on his face, her eager hands already tugging at her own nipples as she rocked against his mouth like a harlot, and it was perfect. He circled her hard little clit with the flat of his tongue and reveled in every jerk it elicited from her hips, and his cock throbbed in tandem with her moans. He briefly entertained the thought of reaching down to grip himself just to take the edge off, but this was about her—it always had been, and he could wait, he always could. 

“ _Noo_ …” tumbled out of Rook’s mouth on a whine, and she wriggled away from his mouth with shaky movements. He lifted his head, wondering if he’d hurt her, but she shook her disheveled head at him as if she could read his mind. “Too good, too close.” 

Why was this a problem? 

“Want to make you come,” Joseph growled, pure heat shooting south and making his dick jerk at the thought. 

“Wanna do it on your cock,” she breathed, and it set him on fire, not for the first time. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” was his reply, hips jerking up so hard he almost pushed her off him. 

Rook grinned with pure sin and tugged his jeans down, and he sat up to help, the two maneuvering his boots and pants off him as quickly as possible. Her gaze dipped immediately to his dick, which jerked again under her scrutiny, and he mumbled a quick prayer that she wouldn’t take him in her mouth to return the favor, because he definitely wouldn’t survive it. Instead she shuffled forward on her knees to hover over his lap, as if to lower herself onto him, and his entire body throbbed with anticipation, but there was still one thing, not that he didn’t want, but she surely wouldn’t be ready—

“Wait, we don’t have…” Joseph began, but Rook shushed him and took him in hand to angle him at her entrance, murmuring, “IUD, don’t worry.” 

Smart girl, his Rook. This was the last coherent thought before he was sliding into warm, wet heat and it had been so long, and never this good. He gripped her hips still with a sob when she sank all the way down on him, fearing he’d go off before this even started, but Rook made it absurdly hard what with all the whining and the impatient twitching of her hips. She shoved him back down onto the floor so roughly his shoulder blades knocked uncomfortably against the unforgiving wood (his back was going to be killing him tomorrow) but he ignored it in favor of watching her rise off his cock and sink back down slowly, teeth sinking into her lip enticingly. 

He was right, Joseph realized with an internal laugh. She did like to be on top. 

“This what you dreamt about, Joseph?” she hummed, whining when he lifted his hands again to play with her tits. 

He nodded, mouth dropped open in awe. 

“Dreamt about more,” he admitted, pulling and pinching at her nipples like she did to herself when she was riding his tongue. 

“Like what?” Rook said with a shivery little moan that’d probably be starring in said dreams from now on. 

“Too much to list.” 

This was true, but Joseph also wasn’t sure he could string together coherent enough sentences for her to understand. 

“We’ll do it all,” she promised, and then absolutely _slammed_ herself down on his cock when he made a wrecked sound at the prospect and tore his hand from her breast to slip over her clit in circles. 

“Was this what _you_ dreamed about, Rook?” he asked eagerly, drinking in the little tremble in her thighs with every clumsy flick of his fingers. 

She answered with a wild moan at first, hair tossed back with beautiful abandon, before a breathy chuckle pierced the air. “I mostly dreamed of you bending me over one of those church pews, but can’t say I’m disappointed right now.” 

He blushed like a virgin on her wedding night, because the thought was utterly blasphemous, and exactly what he too had dreamt of. “You wicked little hell child.” 

“Says the preacher who never wears a shirt,” Rook replied smartly, eyes briefly closing when he pinched her nipple in retaliation. 

He’ll never wear one again. 

“What kind of sounds would you make if I did take you in my church, darling?” he wondered huskily, before his hips vaulted off the floor to meet her change in angle. 

“ _Oh, fuck, Joseph_!” she screamed, and he figured that might be his answer. 

They spoke in moans after that, barring the occasional name drop or stolen kiss or a broken little, “ _Again_ ,” or “ _Yes_ ,” every now and then as they fucked like reunited long-lost lovers on the floor. He felt the tight sharpness of pleasure ratcheting higher and higher with each glide of her cunt around his cock and urged her to slow down with an incoherent, jumbled cry and a squeeze around her breast (which in hindsight probably didn’t convey the message very well, seeing as Rook seemed to like it), trying to somehow let her know that he wasn’t going to make it if she kept up like this, he wasn’t as young as her, he’d had nothing but his dreams and his hand (and most of the time not even that) for so long. But it didn’t matter—Rook’s moans started hitching, the sweet cadence rising with every thrust of her hips until her hands started scrambling desperately over his chest as if to try and tell him the same thing. 

“Press harder,” she whined, and he made a similar noise when she accidentally caught his nipple with her wandering hands, “I’m gonna fucking come, oh God, _Joseph_ —”

“ _Yes_ , do it on me, love,” he breathed, fighting against the urge to shut his eyes as her thrusts got so fast and hard her hips were a blur. 

In all his dreams, he watched her come—under him, on top of him, on his tongue, fingers, it didn’t matter—but even he couldn’t have dreamed up all the beautiful little ways her body let loose as her orgasm crashed over her. Her head tipped back, soul-marked thighs trembling, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows drawn up in pained ecstasy, her moans sounding almost shocked at how good it was as her hands absolutely _yanked_ at his hair. Apparently that did it for him, because Joseph had no choice but to slam his eyes shut, dick jerking inside of her as he filled her, cries so loud he wondered if someone wouldn’t come barging in to investigate. Her hips kept moving in little twitches as her moans lessened into little whimpers, until it got to be too much for the both of them and he stilled her hips with a tight grip, his ears ringing from the pleasure (or their combined volume, he’d figure out which later). He wasn’t quite willing to let her lift herself off him yet, though, and so he drew his arms up around her until she was pressed into his chest. She took it upon herself to tuck her head under his chin in such a clear gesture of affection that it hurt his heart, just a little bit. 

“You’re perfect,” he told her, the urge to sing all his praises of her at this exact second surprisingly strong, but he settled for just that one for now. 

She blew out a laugh against his collarbone, and he couldn’t tell if it was one of amusement or disbelief—no matter, he would show her later, over and over again. 

“We should get off the floor,” Rook suggested, and for a moment Joseph was worried the moment was over and she would go back to being distant and cold, but she lifted her head to smile up at him so, so beautifully it stole the air from his lungs. “What?” she added, when he just stared. 

“You’re _perfect_ ,” Joseph repeated dumbly, because that was all he could think of to summarize his thoughts. 

“Fuck you,” she replied with a smirk, and Joseph threw back his head and laughed so uproariously it echoed through the cabin. 

“Say it again,” Joseph grinned when he was done laughing. 

“You have to earn it,” Rook said dryly, wriggling out of his grip, but Joseph’s grin only widened and he flopped back down onto the hard floor, pleased at the implicit promise that he would have the chance to ‘earn it’ again. “Ugh,” she added when she lifted herself off him, his spend trickling down her thighs (and over the mark, and if his earlier thought wasn’t blasphemy, that definitely had to be). 

“Does this place have working water?” Joseph asked, searching around for something to clean them off with and finding only her dirty tank top. 

“No hot water, but the bathtub works,” Rook replied. 

Before he could suggest they brave the cold water together, she leaned over and settled herself back in his lap without any more attention paid to the mess they’d made. He let out a pleased sound and drew her back into his grasp, reveling in the blatant display of affection from her. Did this mean she had no intention of leaving, or making him go without her for any longer? He made another noise and tightened his grip at the thought, surprising himself with his own desperation at never being separated from her again. 

At the risk of ruining the mood, Joseph asked quietly, “Does this mean you’ll stay with me?” 

Rook pulled her head off his chest, and Joseph’s heart started a tarantella in his chest, but Rook didn’t look upset. She looked… contemplative, and a little uncertain. 

“I’m not exactly partial to your creepy doomsday bunkers, Joseph,” Rook said with a frown. “Not to mention how many of your people I killed and/or tried killing me first.” 

“Not right away,” he promised, lifting her hand back up to his mouth so he could press unrestrained kisses to her fingertips. “Not if you don’t want to. But when the Collapse comes—”

“If,” Rook interrupted with a deeper frown, one which he mirrored. 

“Rook,” he said seriously. “It will come. You will not have to doubt me for much longer. But please, _please_ come to me when it does,” he begged. “Let me keep you safe. It will _end me_ if you die.” 

He let the rawness of his terror bleed into his words, and it succeeded, if the little hitch in Rook’s breath was anything to go by. She ducked her face down to hide in his chest, and he smiled despite his earnestness, rubbing his cheek against her hair. 

“If it comes,” Rook said slowly, and his heart jumped with joy, “you have to promise my friends can come too. Staci, Earl, Sharky, the Ryes, my goddaughter. All of them. I’m not living through a goddamn apocalypse without them.” 

Goddaughter. He wanted to know the story behind that, but for now he was just thrilled at her tentative olive branch, unable to help himself from squeezing her just a little bit tighter. 

“Yes, my love, anything,” Joseph promised, pressing desperate kisses against her head. 

Reassured, she settled herself back down into his lap with a mumbled, “‘Kay good,” and Joseph closed his eyes and leaned into her, reveling in the moment he never thought would come. 

Later he would shoo the dog off the couch so Rook could nap on his chest, and he would fall asleep happier than any other moment in his life, whispering prayers in thanks and deference to the God that sent him on the Path to her. One day, when she was ready, he would introduce her to his Family, all of them, show her more sides to his siblings and his Flock than the war-heading heralds he’d sent them off to be. There was much left to do still—her friends needed places within their Gates, and he needed to ready his bunker to receive her, fill it with things she would like and people she cared for, so they could enjoy their temporary life until the new Eden. 

But for now, he held her, basking in the simplicity of being whole, and rejoiced. 

***

_‘Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory! For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready.’ ~ Revelation 19:7._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to everyone who came along for the ride! I've been blown away by the support this fic has gotten, considering the fandom's a lot quieter than in 2018 and this is just another soulmate fic on top of the pile and I am smol <3 Thank you very much for reading xo
> 
> John's story is up next because Sadboi™ got me from the start with those EYES <3 I can't guarantee it'll be up soon though, I've almost finished writing the first draft but I like to spend months rereading and editing things, plus the new semester started up so goodbye free time, I hardly knew ye.
> 
> Special thanks to Emily, Uzicorndog_he_my_dawg, LobeSic, Littlewritingraven and DaRealDaz. Super special thanks to my loyal commenters~ ( ꈍᴗꈍ)♡
> 
> PS I have a headcanon of Joseph 100% being the Antichrist for SO many reasons ~~do not @ me~~ (do if you wanna chat about it!)


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